


Barbershop Duet

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Barbershop, Barber Castiel, Bi-Curious Dean, Biromantic Dean Winchester, Bisexual Dean, Boners, Caring Castiel, Chair Sex, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Smut, Confused Dean, Dean Has a Sexuality Crisis, Dean thinks he's straight, Demiromantic Castiel, Demisexual Castiel, Domestic Fluff, Facial Shaving, Family Gatherings, Fireworks, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Inappropriate Erections, Lonely Castiel, Lonely Dean, M/M, Marathon Sex, New Year, Professionals Being Unprofessional, Romance, Shaving Kink, Smut, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 14:37:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13366806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: Whenever Dean wants to feel pampered and cared-for, he goes to Castiel's barbershop for a proper shave. Right before the shop closes on Christmas Eve, Dean shows up in dire need of Castiel's magic touch. Although Dean is totally, completely, unquestionably heterosexual – when Castiel confesses he's feeling lonely, and then tries (and fails) to hide a boner, Dean refuses to be the heartless Christmas-ruiner who'd let a friend go home unfulfilled. Except maybe Dean enjoys their intimate experiment a little more than he cares to admit...





	Barbershop Duet

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Mentions of Dean/women, no past Cas/other. Claire is biologically Cas' daughter (he's a sperm donor dad and a virgin, eyy).
> 
> My thanks to [Libby](http://cersei-the-truth-bombardier.tumblr.com/) and [Amara](https://sweetdreamspootypie.tumblr.com/) for the betaing ♥
> 
> Happy late Christmas... and late New Year!! I swear this fic was meant to be up a few weeks ago but then I got sick (more sick than usual), and needed some time to recover. So I guess this fic is now semi-post-seasonal. Merry mid-January 2018? Now go forth and read this fluffy, sexy thing I wrote _last year_ ~

The bell over the glass door jingled, and Dean poked his head into the shop. “Knock-knock! Cas, you in?”

Castiel straightened up from sweeping the floor, a towel over one arm, squinting at the rush of winter air that flooded the room. “Why don’t you just _knock_?”

Dean stood in the doorway, his black wool coat speckled with snowflakes. “Uh.”

With a roll of his eyes and a smile, Castiel set the broom aside and beckoned with one finger. “Come in, Dean. What can I do for you?”

Dean licked his lips, entering at last, making the bell jingle again as he closed the door. He took a moment to look around, admiring the gentle blinking of the colourful fairy lights decorating the top edges of the barbershop. The blinds were already drawn down on the windows and the door, making the place cozy. “Nice,” Dean remarked, strolling in, slowly peeling off his coat, revealing a purple plaid shirt underneath.

Castiel went to wash his hands in a sink, at the workstation that ran the whole width of the shop. He avoided his own eyes in the mirror. “Is there something particular you’re here for, Dean? I was about to close up, it’s very late.”

“Yeah. Uh. Christmas Eve, right?” Dean clicked his fingers, eyes coasting the sleek floorboards as he shook snow off his coat. “I actually, um.” He lay the coat over the headrest of the nearest barber’s chair, patting it – then he covered his mouth with his palm. He was grinning when he lowered his hand. “To be honest, man, I don’t really know.”

Castiel approached, rubbing a small amount of lotion into his hands. In the blue-tinted sparkle of the Christmas lights, Castiel could see the indecisiveness in Dean’s eyes, and – more importantly – the stubble on his jaw. “You usually want stubble left over,” Castiel said, eyeing Dean’s freckled cheeks. “You want a clean shave now?”

“No...” Dean reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I dunno.”

Castiel’s eyebrows hunched closer together. “So you made a visit to the local barbershop at ten o’clock at night on Christmas Eve and you don’t know _why_.”

Dean flushed hot. “Could you, like— P-Pretend to shave me? Do the thing with the hot towels, the foam, the – the massaging? Blunt razor or somethin’. I just—” He shut his eyes, head tipping back. “God. Christmas is just so damn shitty. Every year.”

“Aha,” Castiel raised his eyebrows. “You want to be pampered.”

“Pampered! Sure,” Dean said, with dark, shifty eyes and a derisive smile. “Whatever you wanna call it.”

His expression faded to neutral as Castiel guided him to the fake-leather chair and sat him down, boots in the metal trough below. There was anxiety in Dean’s chest and a sadness in his stomach, and he’d gone to the first place he remembered that feeling being chased away.

Dean rested his head against the headrest, bowing it forward for a moment again as Castiel took away his wet coat, going to hang it on a real coat rack.

Castiel put a towel in the mini microwave, then rummaged for a razor, his wide shoulders sloped, his near-black hair mussed, his shirt sleeves crumpled up at his elbows. Dean watched the show, starting to relax.

“My brother was meant to come for Christmas,” Dean said quietly. “Him and his kid.”

Castiel gave a solemn nod. “I take it Sam and Jack couldn’t make it, then.”

Dean swallowed, eyes on his knees, watching them straighten out as Castiel cranked the barber’s chair into a reclining position.

“Are you sure you don’t want to be shaved properly?” Castiel asked, lifting a plastic BIC razor to show Dean. “This seems... more than a little peculiar. I’m a professional. As far as I’m concerned – this a toy, not a tool.”

“Take the blade out,” Dean said, eyes on Castiel’s hands, admiring his angular knuckles, fingertips holding the grippy handle. “And quit judging me, Cas, I just—” He gulped, eyes flicking downward. “I came here to feel validated, okay? Stroke my face and tell me my problems aren’t as ridiculous as they sound.”

Castiel smiled to himself, though he rolled his eyes too. “Yes, of course,” he said bluntly. “Your barber is absolutely a trained therapist. Do go on, Dean.”

Dean smirked, pushing aside his guilt. “My, uh.” He cleared his throat. “My whole family got held up by the snowstorm,” he muttered. “Sam’s crashing at some Holiday Inn six hundred miles away. Minnesota, I think. Once the weekend’s over he’s probably not gonna have time to come visit before he’s gotta get back to work. So.” Dean shrugged in a careless way. “No big deal. I’ll probably see him in a couple months anyway.”

“Is nobody else visiting?” Castiel asked, carefully removing the plastic razor’s disposable blade.

“Nah,” Dean said lightly. “I mean, more time for me, right? I get to pick which TV channel I watch, don’t gotta argue about whether mulled or sparkling wine is better. It’s mulled, for the record. All the way.”

“Hm. Around Christmas-time I prefer peppermint mocha myself,” Castiel said, removing the steaming hot towel from the microwave oven. He approached Dean with the coil in his hands. “Relax for me,” he said soothingly, and Dean shut his eyes and felt himself melt as Castiel lay the hot towel around his jaw, his throat, and folded it down around his temples. “There.”

Dean’s voice came out muffled as he imparted, “I w’z gonna go visit Jody and her daughter – you know, the same Jody who introduced us – but then that stupid _storm_ —”

“Dean,” Castiel said sternly, feeling a jolt of discomfort at Jody’s name. “Don’t talk. You’re moving the towel. Just... take deep breaths. Slowly. Let everything go.”

“But I wanna—”

“You can tell me in a minute,” Castiel assured him, one hand on Dean’s heart. His plaid overshirt had been tugged forward to cover the logo underneath, but Castiel recognised the design anyway. Dean wore a Led Zeppelin t-shirt – from their 1975 tour, with a naked, leaping winged man, and a circle behind him, with so many colours fading together that it looked like a rainbow sunset. Castiel felt Dean’s heartbeat, and it beat _hard_.

When Castiel removed his touch, Dean inhaled and his hand shot to chase him blindly – but Castiel was gone.

Castiel wasn’t sure why Dean grabbed for him. Aside from the occasional hug or a shoulder-pat, Dean had never tried to touch him until tonight.

Preparing as though he was about to do a regular shave, Castiel brought out a high stool, and two more white towels. He filled a bowl with warm water, fetched his fluffiest brush, then perched on the stool, and waited another minute in silence. He bided his time listening to Dean’s breaths, watching him stroke his own chest, stretching his fingers forward and back, forward and back – perhaps self-comforting.

“All right,” Castiel said softly, placing his hand on Dean’s solid bicep. “I’m going to remove the towel. Your stubble and skin ought to be nice and soft now.”

“‘Kay,” Dean breathed.

Castiel pinched the towel between his fingers, dragging it back from Dean’s face. Dean’s eyelashes fluttered, his plush lips parting. “Hmh,” he sighed.

“That’s it,” Castiel said, folding the towel and setting it aside for later. “Here’s a towel to protect your clothes.” He folded one over Dean’s clavicle as he spoke. “And one for my lap.” He reached for a tub of solid shaving soap, and a brush. He dipped the fluffy brush into a bowl of warm water, shook the drips free, then placed the brush into the tub of soap, swirling and swirling and swirling until he had a thick, fat wad of white lather on his brush.

He removed the foam from the brush between two firm fingers, set the brush aside, and worked the lather in his hands.

“Ready?” Castiel asked.

Dean breathed out, nodding. “Uh-huh.” He was obviously more content now; his jaw went semi-slack, and his eyelids cleared of tension.

Warm hands caressed Dean’s face, moving softly, applying the foam. Dean kept his eyes closed so he could fully appreciate the sensations, all the care Castiel took, and – he imagined – the _love_ in the barber’s touch.

“Mmm,” Dean purred, shifting in the chair so he could relax further. “Oh, yeah. That’s what I needed.”

Castiel’s chuckle was deep and rolling, and Dean peeked open one eye so he could admire the crinkles that always appeared beside Cas’ eyes whenever he laughed. An attractive twinkle of blue shone between his lashes.

Still smiling, Castiel said, “My hands relieve all ailments, I see.”

“Might as well call you Mr. Magic Fingers,” Dean murmured, feeling a swoop in his lower belly in reaction to his own words.

His comparison wasn’t inaccurate: Castiel’s massages awarded Dean the same satisfaction and excitement as the vibrating beds in the motel rooms Dean stayed in whenever he travelled to visit Sam. Honestly, Dean sometimes thought about jerking off while Castiel did his thing, like he did in the motel beds. If it weren’t wholly inappropriate, and kinda gay, he’d go for it.

But... _whoa_. Inappropriate. And _gay_.

By now, Castiel had painted shaving foam on the entire lower half of Dean’s face, making him look rather like a young Father Christmas, with a fuzzy white beard.

“I’ll ask one last time, Dean. You’re completely sure you don’t want a real shave, with a straight razor?” Castiel urged, somewhat perplexed. “Nobody really comes in here wanting me to... pretend.”

Dean gulped, popping a few dozen foam bubbles. His eyes were open just enough for Castiel to see the green in his irises, their pigment appearing more potent whenever the fairy lights flashed the same colour.

“Dean?” Castiel prompted.

“Uh,” Dean said, averting his eyes. “Look, just... Just do somethin’. Anything. It’s more the hot towels and the long heartfelt talks I wanted. Always feels awesome comin’ back here.”

“Talking,” Castiel repeated, reaching for the empty razor. He leaned close, shifting his stool right up to Dean, bowing down so he was inches away. “What do you want to talk about?” With the fingertips of his left hand holding Dean’s strong jaw steady, Castiel set the empty razor down with his right, scritching away a square of shaving foam. Dean’s stubble showed through again.

“You know what,” Dean murmured, barely moving his lips. “Let’s not talk about how shitty and lonely my Christmas is, Cas. Tell me about yours. What’s uh... What’s your plan look like?”

Castiel snorted. “Fake-shaving my favourite customer at crazy o’clock at night when the shop isn’t even meant to be open. That’s what.”

Dean quirked up a grin. “Yeah, but. What’s tomorrow?”

“Not much,” Castiel said, turning his head, admiring Dean’s freckles as they were revealed, pulled from their hiding place beneath the layer of white foam. “Like you said. Turkey in front of the TV. Admiring the new socks I bought for myself.”

A quiet snort escaped Dean’s nose. “Seriously?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were going to _shame_ me for doing the exact same thing you were doing,” Castiel said blithely, eyebrows up. “Forgive me for _not_ having a family who cares, I’ll try better next time I’m reincarnated.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh, displacing Castiel’s razor for a moment. His eyes were sparkling now, and this was the first time tonight Castiel had seen the crow’s feet around his eyes. They only appeared when Dean was smiling genuinely – like now.

“Glad you find my overwhelming loneliness so amusing,” Castiel said, along with a fond smile. He shifted even closer. His breath eased over Dean’s face, and he felt its warmth bounce back against his lips. He could only imagine how invasive that must feel for Dean, so he backed away.

Dean’s eyelids fluttered. “Wh— Hey. Get back here. You were warming my nose up.”

“I was?”

“‘Case you hadn’t noticed, Cas, the devil himself would probably freeze his damn nuts off if he went walking around outside. I was shivering the whole way here. My coat got _crispy_.”

Castiel smirked, leaning close again. “Is that warm enough for you?”

“Hm,” Dean smiled, one hand lifting to tug on the knot of Castiel’s tie. “You change your aftershave?”

Castiel blinked twice. “Pardon me?”

Dean shrugged a shoulder, still fiddling with Castiel’s tie. “I dunno. You smell different than... usual.”

“Oh— _Oh_! I changed my soap, yes,” Castiel realised. “Cedarwood.”

Dean took a small breath. “Right.” His tongue lapped over his lower lip. “It’s nice.”

“Yes, I thought so too.”

Dean’s smile was small and tender, and his eyes roamed Castiel’s face for a moment longer before he let go of his tie, casting his eyes away. The softness on his throat tucked up tight to his jaw; he seemed nervous now.

Again, Castiel backed away.

“For the record... Cas?” Dean glanced at Castiel’s cheeks, but didn’t meet his eyes. “Look, I’m... sorry about your family. And your shitty Christmas. It’s gotta suck, huh.”

“Could be worse,” Castiel said, shrugging. “I have a place to live. I wouldn’t call it _home_ , exactly – after all the updates I’ve given you on how the ceiling is slowly caving in, it’s technically still ‘a roof over my head’. I have a good job, and... good customers. Ones who come back.”

“Good friends,” Dean corrected. “You got good friends. Or... _one_ , at least.”

Castiel felt a warmth in his heart, and he smiled. After a moment he smiled more widely, feeling heat flood his cheeks.

“I mean me,” Dean said. “Just in case you didn’t—”

“I understood, Dean,” Castiel assured him. “Don’t worry.”

“Okay.” Dean smirked. “Cool.”

Castiel adjusted his hand on the razor, and began shaving Dean again, as the purpose of their closeness had eluded him for almost a minute now.

Though Castiel tried to ignore it, his heart was beating a little too hard and a little too loud. It wasn’t his fault and he knew it; Dean kept looking at him with care or concern in his eyes, and it was all too easy to interpret it... perhaps in a way Dean didn’t intend. It had to be the dim rainbow lights that made his eyes dark. Perhaps his lips felt dry, that was why he kept licking them. His hand moved to hold the crook of Castiel’s inner elbow to help stabilise his shaving hand, that was all. His thumb stroked Castiel’s bicep through his shirt because... Dean was his friend. Obviously.

Dean liked girls. He liked girls very much. He’d made that inescapably clear over the past year. Intermittent visits to the barber – twice a month or more – he’d always shown up with a tale of _That One Hot Girl_ or _Times I Had Sex With Women_. Every time it was a different girl, a different story.

Yet, Castiel imagined... perhaps if Dean found a girl he liked, he’d probably look at her like this. Slow, soft blinks. Unbroken contact. Little smiles whenever Dean realised Castiel was looking back.

Gentle, longing sighs.

Castiel had to be imagining it. He was projecting his own desires onto his friend. Hopeful thinking. That was all. He tried desperately to take his mind off Dean’s searing heat in the cool room, fighting to think about the slow movements of the razor instead, but... but _oh_ , it was so difficult, when Dean kept staring, and _admiring_ Castiel’s face up close, and – oh – reaching up to run his fingers through Castiel’s hair, displacing some gel.

When Castiel tilted his head in questioning, Dean shrugged and muttered, “Just makin’ it perfect.”

Castiel had to squirm in place, making sure the towel in his lap hid the twitch he felt between his legs. He forced a smile, going slow so Dean had longer to enjoy his shave. His manner had changed completely; before, he’d been tense and highly-strung. Now? Now he was dopey, and smiley, and his fingers were ever so playful.

He took the end of Castiel’s tie between two fingers, flipping it back and forth.

He chuckled. “Dude,” he uttered. “You got your tie on backwards.”

“Have I?” Castiel looked down at his chest, swiping downward with a hand – but his eyes focused lower. Fuck. The bulge between his legs was too prominent. He took hold of the towel and shifted it higher.

“Ah, so I have,” Castiel breathed, jumping in his stool, trying to wriggle himself comfortable. It was hard to do when a thick, tight pressure was building of its own accord. Dean’s attention was only making it worse.

Dean’s pink tongue poked between his lips, eyes roaming Castiel’s unsteady figure. “You okay?” Dean asked in concern. “You need to pee?”

“No.” Castiel huffed a laugh. “No, I’m just. Ummmm.”

Damn it! He could’ve just said yes, and excused himself to _deal_ with this.

“Squirmy,” Dean said, giving Castiel another once-over. He sat up a bit in the reclining chair, the weight of his torso on his elbow. “Seriously, what’s your deal?”

Concern pinched a line between Dean’s brows; he looked down to see where Castiel lay his protective hand.

“Oh,” Dean said with rounded lips, his concern evaporating immediately. He turned his head, lifting his chin, apparently trying to peer over the towel. “You... got a lil’... situation?”

“Bigger than little,” Castiel whispered, against his better judgement.

Dean chuckled under his breath, biting down on his lower lip. “Hm!” His cheeks had coloured, and his eyes were shining with what looked very much like glee.

Dean’s heart was _racing_. Castiel was all flustered now, peeking under his towel to see how bad it really was, then replacing the towel and pressing down. There was excitement in Dean’s body, rushing hot from his chest to the soles of his feet, and he couldn’t explain it, and he didn’t want to try. It was like when he watched dirty movies. When the dude on screen got a boner, Dean did too. Obviously. That was just how people worked.

“I— I should finish...” Castiel rushed forward, pushing Dean back down by his chest, pinning him there. “I’m almost done.”

There was really only one stripe of shaving cream left, and with no blade in the razor, Castiel had it swiped away in a second. “There. Now—” He reached for the damp towel that had once been hot, and he shook it so it chilled evenly. He sank it down around Dean’s cheeks and throat, leaving it there to cool him, even though there was no sore skin to soothe.

While Dean’s eyes were hidden under the towel, Castiel took the opportunity to squeeze himself, almost choking in his effort not to cry out. Shit. Shit shit shit. Castiel rarely swore aloud but he could’ve done so a dozen times over in that moment. The pressure felt good and terrible and _shameful_ and exciting and he didn’t know what to do. This didn’t _happen_ to him. As far as he knew it didn’t happen to anyone, at least not anyone who didn’t want to get fired, and banned from barbering forever.

Even so, Castiel’s eyes were drawn to Dean’s crotch. He couldn’t tell if the rise there was because Dean had the start of an erection, or if his penis was simply large. Castiel had never thought to check before.

Scowling, heart pounding, Castiel lowered his eyes and chin, swamped with guilt. Dean was straight. Castiel wasn’t allowed to like him.

Dean shifted in place, raising one thigh a few inches, perhaps to shelter his crotch from Castiel’s view. Well, of course! Castiel felt disgusting. He was a horrible, horrible pervert for looking, and Dean was right to protect himself.

Just as Castiel was stuck wondering what to do, Dean lifted the towel off his face, peeking out.

“You just gonna leave me under here?” he asked with a smile. “It’s cold enough outside, man. I’m over icy towels.”

“No problem,” Castiel said, standing up, taking the towel. “D— Do you want... Um...” His brain had short-circuited, and he couldn’t remember what to do now. Moisturiser? Powder?

Dean let out a slow breath, his eyes on Castiel’s crotch. Castiel realised he’d let his protective towel fall when he stood. “Shit,” Castiel breathed.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Dean said calmly, looking up at Castiel. He licked his lips, then lowered his eyes back to Castiel’s tented slacks. “It... It’s fine, man. Happens to the best of us.”

“I should really go—”

“Cas? Hang on a second, I gotta ask. Are you—” Dean swallowed. “Are you into me?”

Castiel shifted in place, hands screwing in the cold towel, now partly warm from Dean’s face. Though he tried, he couldn’t keep his eyes away from Dean’s intense gaze.

“‘Cause – if you wanted...” Dean gave a shy smile, shrugging one shoulder. He sat up part-way again, resting on his elbow. “You ‘n me could make a quick go of it. I mean, it’s Christmas, right? It’s like a festive bonus. Friends with benefits.”

“But you’re... straight. You like women.”

“Yeah. But,” Dean’s eyes went again to Castiel’s problem, as if magnetised there. “But...”

Dean felt so much in his chest, in his belly, between his legs, he couldn’t comprehend anything beyond those feelings. Tingly, hot, sparkly feelings, like Christmas lights changing colours every time he blinked. The sensation doubled in intensity when he looked up and met Castiel’s worried eyes.

“Straight guys pretend all the time in dirty movies, don’t they,” Dean said. “Gay-for-pay. That’s a thing. And they’re still straight afterwards, right? And— And c’mon, sex is sex – it’s hot no matter who’s doing it. So...” He managed a lopsided grin, then reached out a hand to swipe Castiel’s, bumping his shielding towel. “It’s no big deal. You can be into me, Cas, I don’t mind.”

Castiel shut his eyes. He wanted this to be real. He wanted Dean to _want_ this, so very badly. Please.

“Cas?” Dean peered up at him. “Look, I’ve never been with a dude, but it can’t be that much different than playing with myself, I’m guessin’.” He laughed, feeling his cheeks blazing. “It can be a one-time thing if you want. My Christmas gift to you. World’s best barber.”

Letting go of a breath through narrowed lips, Castiel nodded. This was _Dean Winchester_. Attractive, friendly... Heterosexual. One-time-only was better than nothing. It was more than Castiel would ever get otherwise.

“Okay,” he whispered, letting the towel drop.

Dean exhaled, a flicker of a smile rising on his lips as he reached in. His palm touched the stiffness in Castiel’s black pants, cupping it firmly. “Heh,” he breathed, eyes lighting up. He glanced up, checking Castiel’s expression, then looked back down. With his lower lip sliding into his mouth, Dean turned his hand, and cupped the weight again, this time from underneath.

“Mmh...” The sound escaped Castiel without his knowing, and he blushed, ashamed.

“Jeez,” Dean whispered. He was sweating now. Hot all over. Hard, definitely. He swallowed twice, needing to squirm in the seat before the fast heartbeat-pulses settled into a hard throb against his thigh.

Slowly, Dean began to stroke Castiel’s erection through his pants, fingers finding the curve and riding along it. Castiel went weak at the knees and collapsed back onto his stool, where Dean couldn’t reach him.

Dean chuckled, sitting up. His lips were shiny, eyes dark and gleaming with the coloured lights. He turned his body to the side, lifting one armrest from the seat, slinging his legs outward so Castiel could see Dean had an erection too. Dean took hold of his crotch, hissing between his teeth and shutting his eyes tight, massaging the heel of his hand into himself. “Christ,” he whispered. “Oh, damn... Ahahh.”

The intensity in his eyes only grew as he met Castiel’s gaze once more.

“You ever jack off in front of someone?” Dean asked, his voice husky. “A dude?”

Castiel shook his head, eyes flicking low.

“You wanna?”

Castiel looked at Dean carefully. “Are you asking because you think I want to?”

Dean didn’t seem sure. He raised a shoulder, then let it slump. He glanced at his crotch, then over at Castiel’s, squeezing himself as he stared. His lips remained parted, a tiny smile pulling at one side.

“Y... You wanna make out?” Dean asked, in a way that seemed... hopeful. Again, Castiel assumed he was projecting.

“We really shouldn’t, Dean. You’re a customer, and I don’t want to let my personal desires ruin the good rapport we have.”

Dean tilted his head playfully. “So you’re not sayin’ you don’t wanna. You _do_ wanna.”

“Yes, Dean, I— I would... v-very much like to kiss you. More than I can bear to express, or should express. And have now expressed.” Castiel touched his forehead, but lowered his hand and explained, “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, or do anything you don’t want to do. If you’re not attracted to me I can’t make you that way, and even _trying_ is—”

“We should try it,” Dean interrupted. “Just in case. Otherwise we’d never know, I might be into it.” He shrugged. “‘Cause I might be, Cas. Y’know? Maybe?”

Castiel breathed out. The ache of longing in his chest was getting close to unbearable. “But what if you don’t like it?” he asked. “What if—”

Dean got up off the chair and stepped up to Castiel, taking him by the collar and pulling him up to kiss him. Dean pushed hard, his breath gruff and his hands clinging. Castiel wasn’t sure how to react, hands grasping at nothing.

But after the initial shock passed, Castiel relaxed, parting his lips. Dean followed suit, sighing, the tip of his tongue warming the seam of Castiel’s lips, the tension between his brows melting away.

“Mhh,” Dean murmured, rolling his mouth against Castiel’s. “Mm.”

Castiel slowly got to his feet, kissing as he went. He and Dean stood toe-to-toe, their middles hot together, belt buckles clipping. Castiel felt Dean’s erection stiff between their hips, Castiel’s own sitting lower, putting pressure between Dean’s upper thighs.

Dean pushed his hips closer, breath hitching as his cock pumped against Castiel’s body. They both felt it.

Castiel’s hands drifted to hold Dean’s neck, feeling the burn of hot skin on his palms. Dean tilted his head, sighing in pleasure. They eased together, pressing, causing sparks to shower both their insides.

Dean broke the kiss first, eyes wide, searching for Castiel’s gaze. “Shit,” he whispered. “Cas.” He shut his eyes and rested his forehead on Castiel’s temple. He gave him another kiss on his cheek, smiling. “That was _hot_.”

“Yeah?” Castiel smiled.

Dean nodded, rocking Castiel’s head. He wet his lips quickly, then bit his lower one. “C... Can we...?”

“What?” Castiel asked, pulling back so he could meet Dean’s eyes.

Dean was blushing terribly. “You wanna get naked now?”

“If that’s what you want to do, then okay.”

Dean hesitated. “Wh... It’s— It’s what we _would_ do.”

Castiel squinted.

“If, y’know,” Dean added.

“If what?”

“If – y’know! If you were a girl. Or if I was gay.”

Castiel was baffled by that. “But not if you and I were standing here, both male and aroused. Like we are now.”

Dean glanced around the floor, apparently confused, or uncertain. “Not sayin’ I don’t wanna, just... I— I’m not...” He trailed off, apparently speechless.

Did he need guidance? Instructions? Was he second-guessing his decision?

Castiel supposed Dean was sensible enough that he’d refuse clearly if he didn’t want to do something. So Castiel kissed his cheek, and instructed, “Sit down in the chair. I can sit in your lap.”

A heavy breath rushed out of Dean. “Okay.”

He unbuckled his pants in a rush, grinning as he kicked them off along with his boots. He shed his plaid shirt, left wearing only his rainbow Led Zeppelin t-shirt and his heather-grey boxers, dark-wet with precome in four different places.

Dean sat down on the reclining barber’s chair, both excited and nervous at once. His eyes roamed the Christmas lights on the ceiling, watching their gradual changes and feeling calmed by the blue-tinted haze.

He glanced over at Castiel, and his heart practically flipped in his chest as he noticed Castiel’s erection straining at his white boxer shorts, giving a distinct point at the front. Castiel unbuttoned the front of his dress shirt, scooting his fingers down the part and revealing a wide chest, perfect brown nipples, a few freckles, and a light swirl of chest hair. He leaned his rear against his high stool while he wriggled off his shoes and socks, letting them tumble to the floorboards.

And then – Dean began to pant – Castiel came up to the barber’s chair, set one knee on the turquoise leather, then lifted his other leg right over Dean’s thighs. He knelt above him, shifting closer... closer.

He sat on Dean’s lap as he promised, and Dean swore for a second he was about to have a heart attack. He could feel the thumping in his chest and arms, eyes and ears and feet, and his palms were sweating, his back was sweating, every sense he has was going off the charts. He could smell that cedarwood soap in the air, mixing tartly on his tongue with the sting of his own precome.

Castiel kissed Dean gently. Slowly.

Dean took his waist and cuddled him closer, pushing his erection between Castiel’s legs, up into his taint.

“Mmhh,” Castiel moaned, a deep purr pushed into Dean’s mouth. “Mmm that’s nice. That’s nice, Dean.”

Dean gave him a little hump, excited to feel his weight right where Dean liked it. Castiel was incredibly heavy. The heaviest person Dean had ever had on his dick, for sure. He was so freaking _into_ this, and the only way he could express as much was to was groan, head falling back against the headrest, throat exposed so Castiel could kiss there.

“Shhhit yeah,” Dean breathed. “Shit, I’m so hard. Oh—” Castiel began rocking on him slowly, and Dean lifted his head with a yelp. “Yes! Yes, oh my God, oh my God? What—?” Surprise jolted through him along with hard, heavy pleasure. “Jesus. _Jesus_ , Cas. Ooh.” Dean flopped back again, dizzy, head lolling. He laughed breathily, grinning at nothing, hands weak on Castiel’s hips.

Curious, Castiel touched his hand to Dean’s abdomen, feeling all the tiny wrinkles in his skin, and the pouch of tummy fat under his navel. He tangled his fingers in Dean’s happy trail, scooting downward...

Dean gasped, stiffening, raising his hips in invitation as Castiel slipped his fingers under the band of his boxers. Castiel took hold of Dean’s erection – it practically pushed itself free before Castiel did anything, it just wanted to sit straight. Castiel looked down, impressed by Dean’s girth, all veiny and pink. The head of his cock was the smallest part, the rest of it was meaty and... wet. Very wet.

“Mmnmn,” Dean purred, grabbing lazily at Castiel’s elbows. “Caass... Yeah...”

Castiel began to pull and tug at Dean’s erection, pleased at how responsive Dean was. His eyebrows raised and his lips trembled, his breath came out unevenly – sometimes sighs, sometimes gasps, sometimes delighted vocalisations.

Castiel paused in touching Dean for a moment, turning his hands towards himself to take out his own erection. Dean opened his eyes to look, watching Castiel pat-pat-pat precome against Dean’s belly, shaking his cock to make it fully hard. It left a sticky, shiny residue on Dean’s skin – and more beaded at its tip as Castiel let it nudge right up against Dean’s cock.

“Is this okay, Dean? Are you enjoying this?”

Dean let go of a hard breath, one he’d been holding onto, unsure when to release. He nodded, over and over, holding Castiel’s eyes. Awe took up a bulk of space inside him, clenching every organ. He breathed in again, trying to remember how. He was too enthralled by the sight of all this: Castiel working his hips slowly against Dean, tentatively pleasuring them both. Like Castiel, Dean was expecting the moment to come when he had to say no, would push Castiel away, feeling sick or wrong or bad. But every moment of this so far had been nothing but thrilling. _Exciting_.

Heat scorched under Dean’s skin, rippling in him like a cool breeze shifting over lava. Every time he met Castiel’s eyes, he felt sparks. Flint rocks struck together with every eager hump Castiel gave.

Dean tried to kiss him again, wondering if it would feel different this time. 

But it was... nice. Castiel was prickly and his lips were soft, and he smelled nice, and the little groans he gave just made Dean feel comforted and happy. It was so exhilarating to know, beyond a doubt, that Castiel found him attractive, and it was _Dean_ making Cas hard, and dark-eyed, and smiley.

And _damn_ , did Cas kiss good. He was clumsy and forceful but...? But Dean _liked_ that. He liked that their kisses weren’t practised or familiar, or something he could handle on autopilot. Dean had to properly pay attention, and make sure Castiel was comfortable, and neither of them were drooling by accident. Hell knew Castiel wasn’t like Dean’s usual lays. Dean didn’t think Cas was a self-satisfying unit in this instance, he wouldn’t be content with a quick, meaningless orgasm. Dean wanted to make him smile in the meantime. Like... he _really_ wanted that. Every time Castiel did so much as smirk, Dean’s heart grew three sizes. Maybe twelve.

“Hey,” Dean said.

“Hm?”

“Cas, can I try somethin’?”

“What?”

Dean glanced down. “I... um. I never sucked a nipple that didn’t have a boob attached. Mind if I—?”

Castiel laughed – and he laughed so hard he headbutted Dean’s shoulder. He came up bright-eyed, nodding. “Suit yourself,” he said, kneeling on the dense leather cushion either side of Dean’s ass, lifting up enough that Dean’s mouth aligned with his nipples.

“Ah,” Dean said, reaching. He took a fistful of Castiel’s white shirt, pulling him close, sealing his mouth around his left nipple. Castiel barked out a sound of shock, then _gasped_ , hands splaying through Dean’s hair. Dean hummed, sucking and plucking and mouthing at the stiff nub.

“Oh, I d-didn’t... didn’t expect,” Castiel shuddered, sagging slightly, bowing his head so his nose and mouth pressed to Dean’s scalp. “Ohhmmm. Dean. _Dean_.”

“Mmyeah,” Dean breathed, dragging the tip of his nose over the swollen point, inhaling the scent of his own saliva. “Cute freckle.”

“Wha...?” Castiel looked down. “Oh,” he laughed. “Th-thank you.”

Dean’s hands slid down Castiel’s back, under his shirt, all the way down to cup his ass. He squeezed, making Castiel grunt, then snicker. Dean smooched at his collarbone, then tilted his head and sucked at his neck.

Slowly, Castiel lowered himself down to sit on Dean’s thighs again. He released his folded legs from the sides of the chair and sat with them swinging free – and now _all_ his weight was on Dean’s upper thighs and hips. Dean was thankful the chair reclined, or he would probably have lost circulation in his legs after a minute.

Castiel lay against Dean’s chest, frotting against him. Dean moaned aloud, eyes fluttering closed; the sensation of a _penis_ was so bold, and so obvious now; there it was, sliding and pushing between Castiel’s body and Dean’s, bumping his cock, sometimes jabbing his middle.

“ _Aughh_ ,” Dean moaned, arching his spine. “Yeahhh.” He peeked through his lashes just enough that he could see Cas, and meet his eyes. “Mmmh.” Biting his lip, he rode out the pleasure, intoxicated by it, and the depth and darkness in Castiel’s eyes.

Castiel huffed and hummed, humping, applying sweet kisses whenever the moment took him. He kept his eyes locked to Dean’s for the most part, his gaze hungry and obviously loving. Dean’s body was stifled of all rational thought and feeling, overtaken by gigantic, cosmic surges of emotions, _sensations_.

“Cas,” Dean whispered. “ _God_ , yes. Fuck, this is perfect. This is perfect.” He buried his face against Castiel’s shoulder, smiling, kissing him there as his peak tumbled up, skipping through him, then hiding away...

Castiel bent his neck and kissed Dean’s ear, tugging his lobe into his mouth. Dean grinned, sighing, hugging Cas closer by his lower back, both arms all the way around him. “Hnnnhhn... Cas...”

There it was again: tension, elation, pulling, _pushing_ — Euphoria...? Almost...!

“Cas,” Dean gasped, thrusting forward with sharp, fast hip movements. “It’s happening. Ah—”

Castiel looked down just in time to see Dean ejaculate, spurting his seed onto his own chest with more force than Castiel had expected. The fluid was thick and cloudy, and slid downward almost unwillingly. Dean hiccuped, his skin sweltering.

Slowly, he raised his eyes to Castiel’s, a sideways smile spreading across his face. “I came,” he said.

“I noticed,” Castiel remarked, taking his own erection in his hand and shaking his cockhead under his fist. “Well done, Dean.”

Dean thrust his tongue between his lips, leaving them shiny. His hair was sweaty now, his attention unable to settle on either of Castiel’s eyes, switching fast between them. His breaths gradually began to steady, but his smiles remained flighty and random, as if every moment between them was a new reason for a new smile.

Carefully, Dean took Castiel by the nape of his neck, eyes on his lips as he brought Castiel down. Slowly they kissed, Dean with great, wide movements of his jaw, Castiel with short pecks whenever Dean’s lips closed on him.

“Ah... I’m going to...” Castiel said, trailing off on purpose. He’d never said the damning words aloud, as he’d always been on his own.

“You gonna come?” Dean asked.

Castiel just nodded, ashamed.

Dean grinned. “Go on then.”

Castiel began to reverse, ready to get up. But Dean yanked him back. “Hey. Where you off to?”

Castiel met his eyes. “Oh. I thought... somewhere else might be better. I didn’t think you’d want to see.”

Dean scoffed. “Dude, I don’t half-ass things, a’right. If I’m gonna go gay for a night, I go all out. Spray your stuff all over me, Cas. Give me the full package.” He gave a big smile, then winked for good measure.

Castiel felt all twirly inside. “Okay,” he agreed. “Okay...”

Dean kept stroking Castiel’s back through his shirt, up and down, up and down, as Castiel drove himself towards his climax. Dean did seem interested, watching the shake of Castiel’s fast hand, noticing every squirm of his hips. He eased into the pressure Castiel placed on his shoulder, steadying himself.

“All over me,” Dean reminded Castiel, kissing his lips. “Every freaking drop, Cas.”

Castiel wondered if he was being teased. He was in half a mind to get up anyway, and finish in private, when it happened: he gasped, feeling the liquid spray between his fingers, spreading in single droplets across Dean’s chest. Another spurt— It was hot and runny and trickled down past Dean’s nipple as he breathed; each inhale and exhale made the white lines run further.

Castiel cried out at the moment it all finished; he tilted his head back and _breathed_ , weak from head to toe, trembling.

Dean made a sweet sound.

Castiel looked at him, surprised to see Dean softly sucking his lower lip, his face and chest fully flushed, eyelashes fluttering. Through his lashes, Dean gazed at Castiel, apparently adoring. Both his hands held Castiel’s waist, thumbs stroking.

“C’mere,” Dean smirked, pulling Castiel down. They kissed, slowly, deeply. Dean sighed, stroking a hand through Castiel’s hair.

Castiel broke away, nodding. “Thank you,” he said, before leaning his weight to the side, trying to get up.

But Dean grabbed him, upset. “Hey!”

Castiel paused, one foot on the floor. “What?”

Dean gaped a little. “You... Are you not into cuddling, or—?”

Castiel chuckled. “Cuddling?”

“Yeah. Cuddling.” Dean took Castiel by his hips and yanked him back, making him plop into his lap with a slap of bare skin and a bunching of come-speckled underwear. “Like this.” Dean smiled, tugging Castiel close, heart-to-heart. He placed a single kiss on Castiel’s shoulder, one arm rubbing his back, underneath his loose shirt.

Castiel frowned. He liked it. But he was confused.

“I suppose... you don’t mind who you cuddle,” Castiel guessed. “Man or woman. It’s like a hug.”

“Mm-hm.” Dean kissed Castiel’s neck, eyes shut, lashes tickling skin.

Castiel licked his lips. “Okay.” He pushed back. “We’ve done cuddling. We should get cleaned up now.”

“Nooo,” Dean complained, pulling Castiel back. “Come on, one more minute.” He nuzzled his face against Castiel's neck, breathing in deeply. “God, you smell so good.” His soft purr of pleasure rumbled through Castiel’s neck.

Castiel looked at the Christmas lights, twinkling innocently around them. “Dean?” he asked.

“Yeah, buddy,” Dean said, rubbing his face against Castiel’s shoulder. “Hmm.”

“Dean,” Castiel sighed. He sat back, looking Dean firmly in the eye. “I cannot do this. The cuddling.”

“Wh... What? Why?” Dean looked heartbroken.

“Because...” Castiel looked around, huffling like it was obvious. “Because you’re – _straight_. It’s very nice of you, giving _yourself_ as a gift, Dean – truly, I appreciate it. But none of this resolves my feelings for you. If anything it’s made it all worse. I—” He pressed his lips together, casting his eyes away in frustration. “I like you even more now, and I hate that. I can’t make it stop.”

Sadly, he looked down at their wilted erections, and moved to cover himself up, then tucked Dean in too.

With a nervous gulp, Castiel met Dean’s bewildered eyes once more. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he said. “I can understand that... perhaps there’s a part of you that’s sexually attracted to me. But if you’re not attracted to me in a romantic way, I— I _cannot_ do this. Cuddling. Being ‘friends with benefits’. If there’s no part of you that can fall in love with me then we cannot have anything at all.”

With softness and care in his blue eyes, Castiel gave Dean one last kiss. “I know it’s not your fault, Dean. It’s just how things are. It’s how _you_ are. And how I am.” He hung his head, then lifted his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He readied himself to stand again.

“Wait—” Dean grabbed him. “Wait. Cas.”

Castiel waited.

Dean exhaled, managing a weak smile. “Look... This? What we just did. Felt awesome for me. And not just ‘cause it was sex with a consenting somebody—” Dean lifted his eyes to the ceiling, then back to Castiel. “I never did it with a dude, Cas. Ever. But...”

Dean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking down. “But that’s not sayin’ I never thought about it. I think about it a ton, actually. Just never... y’know. Never did it.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I... might...” Dean took a breath, “not... be...” His lashes fluttered, his lip twitched. “I might not be straight. Maybe. I don’t— I dunno. It’s complicated. Or maybe it’s not, maybe it’s simple and there’s just a label I don’t know about. But I’m—?”

Castiel tilted his head.

“It was hot for me,” Dean managed to say. “What we did, and your dick, and the kissing, and the whole—” He gestured vaguely, “When you got a boner? I was one struck match away from exploding gasoline, Cas. I liked it.” He frowned, pouting, looking at Castiel’s heart. Grumpily, sweetly, he forced out, “I _really_ liked it.”

“I’m not sure you understand,” Castiel said. “Dean, I liked it too. But... But f-for a while now, I’ve thought... perhaps I might be falling in love with you. And if you can’t return that feeling—”

“Cas, I wasn’t done,” Dean interrupted. “Give me a minute.”

So Castiel waited.

Dean had to gulp to steady himself. He played with the band of Castiel’s boxers, plucking at them. Eventually he felt brave enough, and he breathed out. “It felt romantic,” Dean said.

Castiel raised his eyebrows.

Dean met his eyes. “It was hot, and sexy, sure. But... the way I feel right now is...? God. How do I explain this. I feel... Fuck, I don’t have _words_. I feel— The way you feel after you eat a giant awesome meal with some good friends, and you drank a few glasses of wine, and you’re the perfect amount of tipsy, and you know the night’s not over, so you got more to look forward to. Floaty. Full? And I’m like... happy. Loved. Or something. And for cryin’ out loud, Cas, I really wanna cuddle with you. For _hours_.” He pouted again, pawing at Castiel’s back. “Now, I ain’t some world-renowned expert on falling in love – but I’d be crazy to rule out this feeling as a symptom.”

Castiel let out a huff of surprise.

Dean frowned in a hopeful way.

Castiel snuffled a laugh, his smile widening on side of his face. He moved in and let Dean cuddle him.

Dean sighed, shutting his eyes and relaxing, cheek pressed to Castiel’s shoulder, fingers crumpling his half-off shirt.

“Hee,” Dean laughed.

“What,” Castiel said, smiling.

Dean shook his head. “Came in here with no clue what I wanted.”

“And?”

Dean kissed Castiel’s shoulder again. “Turns out this was what I wanted.”

“Ah, a Christmas miracle,” Castiel said flatly.

“Hey, don’t bash the Christmas miracle. It’s a real thing.”

“Mm,” Castiel replied with a roll of his eyes.

Dean pulled back, giving Castiel a quick smooch. “Hey, Cas? Can I ask you somethin’?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Why do you ask if you can ask questions rather than simply asking? ‘Knock-knock’ instead of knocking. Just say what you want to say, Dean. Want whatever you want, and want it with confidence. _Do_ without so much hesitation. You don’t need to bury everything you care about under layers of other things. And since we’re on the subject – you can and _should_ wear your rainbow Led Zeppelin shirt proudly. There’s no need to hide it.”

Perplexion overcame Dean for a while. But soon he blinked, and chuckled. “Yeah, all right, Aesop.”

“What did you want to ask?”

Dean shook his head. “Ain’t asking. You’re comin’ home with me tonight, Cas. And tomorrow we’re gonna eat turkey and Chinese take-out, play a board game, and argue about whether mulled or sparkling wine is better.”

“Are we, now.”

“Yeah.” Dean kissed Castiel with his head tilted, then pulled back, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “We are.”

Castiel nodded. He finally got up, legs aching. He reached for the cool, damp towel, cleaned himself, then tossed it to Dean so he could clean up too.

“Wow, service in this place went downhill fast,” Dean joked, to an amused huff from Castiel.

“Your fake shave is on the house, by the way,” Castiel said. “Lest I be accused of soliciting.”

Dean grinned as he got up, scrounging his jeans and shirt and boots from the floor. They dressed in near-silence, then stood together, admiring each other’s messed-up hair in the wide mirror.

“Say. Next time I come in for a haircut, Cas, give me this.” Dean pointed at his sex hair, all scrunched up and perfectly messy.

“Hrm,” Castiel said. “That might take more than a pair of scissors. Perhaps twenty minutes, one-on-one in the back room.”

Dean chuckled as he shucked on his still-damp coat. “You all set?”

Castiel nodded, pulling on his own trenchcoat, switching off the Christmas lights as he did. Fearless in the dark, he went to a panel on the wall and set up the alarm for the building – Dean heard all the beeps but saw nothing.

Now Castiel returned to Dean’s side. He took a scarf from the coat stand, then opened the glass door; the bell chimed, and a sigh of snowy air danced in.

Dean grimaced, walking out first, boots crunching in the fresh layer of snowfall. Beyond the beams of the streetlights above, their light falling on the amber brick buildings, the sky was a mass of unfeatured black. Flecks of pure white snow drifted down, as if arriving from a void. As Dean exhaled, the bellows of his lungs turned the air before him into a tumbling cloud of vapour.

Castiel had now locked up behind them, and he checked twice that the door was firmly shut.

“Where to?” he asked Dean.

Dean stuck his hands in his coat pockets. Then he took one hand out, and moved it to hold Castiel’s. “Well, stores are all closed. Can’t buy you a peppermint mocha. So... how’s about we grab some of your overnight stuff from that sinkhole you sleep in usually, then head on back to my place? Fix us a proper hot drink at home.”

Castiel smiled. He felt the prickles of warm tears in his eyes, and he didn’t even try and blink them away. “I’d love that, Dean.”

“Then let’s go already. Cold as Hell, Michigan out here.”

The snow fell softly upon their shoulders as they strode away, and tucked inside Dean’s pocket, their hands remained snug with the warmth of each other.

☙ · · · ♥ · · · ❧

For the remainder of that night, so late on Christmas Eve, they did as they promised. They went to Dean’s place and called it home. They drank homemade peppermint mocha, enjoying the socks Castiel bought for himself – and once the night got the better of them, they snuggled up together on the couch, TV muttering on in the background.

One affectionate post-dinner peck became a slow kiss.

A slow kiss became a long moment, sliding down onto the couch seats, making out – just for five minutes...

Five minutes became an hour, two sloppy blowjobs... then a giggly, grabby something-or-other, standing up, stumbling their way to the kitchen for snacks—

They spent Christmas Day half-asleep in Dean’s bed, naked over the covers, waking up every so often to do it again.

And again.

And again.

☙ · · · ♥ · · · ❧

Their bodies were marked, bitten, filthy, and _exhausted_.

The coloured haze of fairy lights hung outside snuck into Dean’s bedroom, peeking through the half-pulled drapes. The twinkles provided the only light, along with the streetlight glow from the road. It was barely any dimmer than it had been during the day.

Dean groaned, rolling over onto his front. “Cas,” he croaked, his voice wrecked, his eyes half-closed. “You awake yet?”

“M’hm,” Castiel replied, not bothering to open his eyes.

Dean squirmed a little closer over the tangled sheets, placing a soft kiss on Castiel’s muscular shoulder. “One more go?”

Castiel smirked. “Hmmm. May as well make good use of the last condom, I s’pose.”

Dean’s grin was both lazy and heartfelt. “‘S your turn. I bottomed like five times already.”

“Four.”

“Barstool counts, dude. I know I lasted, like, eighteen seconds, but fingerfucking _counts_.”

Castiel purred, biting his bottom lip. His glazed eyes wandered to meet Dean’s, and he shut them again with a contented sigh. “Alright.” He spread his legs and wriggled himself comfortable, flat on his back with his knees raised. “Merry Christmas.”

Dean snickered, dragging himself closer, reaching for the box of condoms. As he tipped out the last remaining foil packet, he saw the glowing red digits on his alarm clock, and raised his eyebrows. “Ain’t Christmas any more, buddy. Almost two a.m.”

“Oh, good, the convenience store down the road will be open,” Castiel remarked, as Dean upended the lube bottle over him. “More condoms.”

Dean cackled, tossing the empty cardboard pack onto the carpet, which was littered with used condoms and tissues and food wrappers. “Dude, you are _insatiable_. All those summers your parents sent you to Church Camp clearly never swayed you.”

“Stop judging me and fuck me,” Castiel complained, holding one thigh up so Dean could sink into his well-stretched hole. Dean was still adjusting the condom on his semi-erection while he made Castiel’s slick inner heat swallow him up.

Dean sighed, relaxing over Castiel. “Ah.”

Castiel smiled, gazing at Dean through hooded eyes. “Hm. You look right at home.”

Dean grunted, starting to push, push, push, most of his weight on his right forearm, the rest heaving slowly against Castiel’s ass. “Maybe I am,” he said, softly, kissing Castiel beside his mouth. “Best Christmas ever.”

Castiel laughed, rolling his eyes. “Really.”

“Yeah, really,” Dean said, licking his lips, pausing his thrusts to resettle his position. He began a rhythm again, making the bed frame go _squeaka-squeaka-squeaka_. “When do I _ever_ get to hibernate in my nice warm bedroom for the entire weekend, and have marathon sex on top of that? Fuck.” He shut his eyes, groaning at the fresh swirls of pleasure rushing through him. “And,” he added, opening his eyes to meet Castiel’s gaze, “I’m not sick of you yet. That says a little somethin’ about our compatibility, maybe.”

“Ah, I see,” Castiel nodded. “If you can survive two nights, shut into one room with a certain individual, you can survive anything.”

“You ‘n me could tackle the apocalypse together and come out fine, just saying,” Dean grinned, kissing Castiel’s neck – then moaning suddenly when Castiel hooked a leg over Dean’s shoulder and allowed him to plunge deeper inside.

Castiel flung an arm back around Dean’s pillow, squeezing it, holding Dean’s eyes as they nudged and thumped and slid together, their skin clapping, the bed screeching, their breath huffing and their voices gruff.

Dean’s hand snuck to hold Castiel’s, and they smiled, managing a sloppy kiss. Dean lifted his head first, murmuring a note of satisfaction. “God, yeah. Mmm.”

His hand slipped from Castiel’s, first feeling the pulse in his wrist, then stroking all the way down his inner forearm, admiring the smooothness of his arm muscles.

“Hm,” Dean said, curious.

“What,” Castiel intoned, sensing a question without opening his eyes.

“How come all your arm hair is gone? At least on your forearms.”

“Heh,” Castiel grinned, lowering his leg from Dean’s shoulder, wrapping his thighs around Dean’s waist instead. “Practise shaves. Making sure the blade isn’t too sharp or blunt. Don’t want to cut anyone by accident. Better if it’s me.”

Dean’s eyebrows leapt and settled, and he exhaled, wrapping his arms against Castiel’s torso, hands locked behind his burning-hot neck. “You should shave me again,” he suggested, as a phone rang distantly. “Proper straight razor this time. And this time—”

Castiel turned his head, listening to the phone through the closed bedroom door. “I think that’s my cellphone.”

“This time I can jack off while you do it,” Dean said, flushing hot.

Castiel turned his face back to Dean’s. “Excuse me?”

“Jack off. While you shave me.” Dean rolled a shoulder. “Sexy, right?”

With a perplexed smile, Castiel said, “I suppose?”

The phone was still ringing. Castiel frowned, agitated by the noise. “It’s two o’clock in the morning.”

“You wanna get it?” Dean asked, slowing his thrusts. “We could move this party back to the couch? Or pause for two shakes, I’ll keep my engines running.” Dean winked.

Castiel shook his head. “It’ll go to voicemail,” he said, settling back to the bed, pulling Dean in for a kiss. “Mm. Turn me over, I’ll come on the sheets.”

Dean huffed. “Ugh. _Tissues_ , dammit. One more item for the shopping list.”

“Pull out,” Castiel said, and Dean leaned away, grunting as his cock slid from Castiel’s comforting heat, out into the stinging dullness of the bedroom. Castiel rolled himself over, resting on his forearms and knees, spreading his thighs. Dean guided himself back into him with two fingers and an easy push; Castiel’s anus was completely relaxed, and therefore an easy target.

Dean sighed in delight, folding forward over Castiel to kiss his back, nosing at the tall points of his shoulder blades. “Mhhh.”

“ _Ahhhh_ ,” Castiel exhaled. “Mmmmmmm.”

“Love when you groan,” Dean whispered, rubbing his nose side-to-side over the nape of Castiel’s neck. “That’s it.”

“Deaannn...”

“Yeah.”

Castiel reached back to hold Dean’s hand, and squeezed once – and Dean grinned at the second-hand shudder he felt, as Castiel ejaculated onto the bed. Just one more mess they had no intention of cleaning up.

As Castiel’s body sagged, Dean pushed him down flat and took hold of his hips, surging against him, fucking Cas in eager humps, torso raised, inner thighs spread on the sheets. Castiel cried out, and Dean hushed him. “Almost done. Almost done.”

Castiel squirmed, raising his hips just a few inches. Dean bowed to kiss his back again, this time only able to reach the middle of his spine. “Mm.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, turning his cheek to press to the pillow. “Can you hear my phone again?”

Dean bit his lip, nodding. “Uh-huh. Think maybe it’s – _ah!_ – urgent?”

“Perhaps,” Castiel said. “Finish first, I’ll call back.”

“Considerate,” Dean grinned, meaning it both genuinely and sarcastically. “Damn, you’re so good to me.”

“You let me finish when you desperately needed to pee, it’s only fair,” Castiel said.

“Sure,” Dean gasped, resting his forehead on Castiel’s back, feeling his breaths as he neared his peak. “Ah... _Oh_ , fuck— Mh!”

Even Castiel felt the hot sparks as Dean climaxed; his body tensed around Castiel’s, his cock jerking. Dean pulled out immediately, out of breath, kissing Castiel’s back. “Go get that cellphone.”

Castiel grunted, getting up and scooting to the edge of the bed, soothing his twinging rear on the cool sheets. He set his feet to the glossy floorboards and walked stiffly to the door, which opened up to the lounge.

The phone had stopped ringing by now, so now Castiel couldn’t follow the noise; he’d have to remember where he’d left it.

The main room in Dean’s apartment was the lounge, which had floor-to-ceiling windows all the way across one side. The long cloth blinds were only half-turned, but Castiel hardly cared if anyone in a nearby building saw him. He looked around for his discarded pants, and finally found them crumpled by a side table, surrounded by condom wrappers, and an empty bowl with a fork in it.

His muscles burned as he stood straight, phone in hand. He thumbed at the screen, but found it was switched off. He turned the phone back on, but its battery was clearly empty; it died before it had loaded up.

“Deeeeeean?” Castiel called.

“Yeaaaaah?” Dean called back.

“Do you have a charger?”

Dean rummaged around, soon emerging from the dark cave of the bedroom to the warm ambience that stretched all the way from the kitchen. Now Castiel saw him in decent lighting, he saw Dean’s naked skin was bruised, speckled with nail marks, and still shone with sweat on his chest and forehead. His hair was greasy, and there were dark bags under his eyes, but he looked a feast; Castiel couldn’t help reaching for another taste.

They breathed out together, smooching at each other’s lips.

Their slow, sultry kiss finally eased, and Dean peered at Castiel, looking bemused, but beaming.

“Uh,” he said. “I got a piece-of-shit Android. Would this fit yours?” He held up a charger plug.

Castiel shook his head. “iPhone.”

“Well, look at you, Mr. Fancy. How much cash did you blow on _that_ , sucker?”

“Ebay!” Castiel retorted. He squinted. “And didn’t you just call yours a piece of shit?”

“Mine cost thirty bucks on Black Friday,” Dean said, tossing the useless charger cord onto the couch. “So, what d’ya need now, want me to go buy you a new charger?”

“Buy one?” Castiel scoffed. “I’ll just go pick it up from my place. After I’ve had a shower.”

“Play you for the shower,” Dean said, holding up a fist on a palm. “On three.”

“What is this, a thumb war?” Castiel asked, hesitantly mirroring Dean’s hands.

“Naw, dude, rock-paper-scissors. Rock beats scissors, scissors beat—”

“Paper – okay, okay, I get it,” Castiel said, ready now. “One, two—”

Castiel played paper, Dean played scissors. Dean cackled, eyes crinkling, freckles stretching as he grinned. Castiel slumped fully, scowling in his defeat.

Dean took pity on him. “Tell you what,” he said, clicking his fingers in Castiel’s direction, following him as he went to the couch. “You give me the first shower – I’ll be two minutes – and I’ll go get your charger for you. You get a twenty-minute wind-down, and I’ll let you use another bubbly bath bomb.”

“Ooh,” Castiel said from the couch, obviously tempted. He’d loved the first bath they’d taken together, and could only imagine it would be better _without_ Dean hogging all the bubbles.

Dean leaned all the way down, hands planted beside Castiel’s shoulders. He gave him a kiss, then knocked their heads together gently. “Gimme your apartment keys and the door code, I’ll grab your stuff when I go to the store. Make a shopping list while I’m washing up, ‘kay?”

“‘Kay,” Castiel said, groaning at the aches as he got back to his feet.

☙ · · · ♥ · · · ❧

Dean prowled the road’s length, watching narrow brick apartments with a skipping gaze, trying to remember which rented building was Castiel’s single-level house. Snow crunched under his boots, and he left fresh prints behind. The streets were deserted, as it was barely three in the morning.

He’d insisted he remembered the address – he’d dropped by with Cas to pick up a change of clothes and those novelty socks, on Christmas Eve – but all the apartments looked kind of the same, even with the fairy lights hanging in the windows, and now Dean was struggling.

Fiddling with Castiel’s lucky taco keyring, Dean fidgeted with his piece-of-shit Android, wondering whether to call his own landline and admit defeat.

The cellphone rang in his hand, startling him. It was offensively loud, the bleeps of a Taylor Swift melody overwhelming the serenity of the empty street. Flustered, Dean hit ‘answer’ and whispered, “Hello?” before he even checked who it was.

“ _Dean? Hi, it’s me._ ”

“Jody? Whoa. It’s the middle of the night, are you okay, what’s up?”

“ _Crazy question, but – you haven’t seen Claire, have you? It’s just, she took off earlier tonight. Said she’d ‘see me in Hell’ – and it took me a while, but I... I kind of figured—_ ”

Dean laughed. “Hell, Michigan?”

“ _Yeah._ ”

Dean managed a tense smile. “Sorry, Jody, I ain’t seen her. I’ve been holed up at my place for the last two days, I would’ve heard if she rang.” He kept walking, eyes on the buildings he passed. “What happened?”

“ _Oh, we had a... an argument, I suppose you could call it. I gave her the address of her birth father – you know, the estranged sperm donor? – and she sat on it for a few weeks. Then this week... I don’t know, guess it was real important she got to see him again, all of a sudden. I’ve been calling him but he won’t pick up._ ”

Dean suddenly felt a wave of intrigue wash through him, as his eyes shot from a giant blow-up Santa in someone’s front yard, to a hunched figure sitting on the steps in front of the neighbour’s door. “He lives in Michigan?”

“ _Yeah. He’s a barber. Maybe you remember, I recommended his place—?_ ”

“I remember,” Dean said, planting his feet in the snow, right at the foot of some icy stone steps, where the hunched, damp figure lifted her sorry eyes, and met Dean’s gaze. “I’m gonna have to call you back, Jody. I found Claire.”

“ _You did— What! Where?!_ ”

“Her dad’s doorstep. She’s safe,” Dean told his friend, with a smile. “Talk later.” He ended the call and pocketed the phone.

Claire had Castiel’s blue eyes.

Dean smirked. “Thank God you had the right address,” he said, pulling out Cas’ lucky taco keyring. “I would’ve been shoving this taco into some rando’s front lock. C’mon, let’s go inside. Fuckin’ freezing out here.” He climbed to the front door, as Claire hurriedly got up, knocking back her black hood with a black faux rim rim, all spiky with melted snow.

“Dean? Y-You have a key? Why?! What are you doing here?!”

“Let’s just get outta the cold first, okay,” Dean said sternly.

The lucky taco clacked against the frame as Dean unlocked the door, and he allowed Claire to enter first.

“So,” he said, searching around for the light, illuminating a tiny, barren hallway, “you first. Care to explain why you’re here?”

“Here, in Hell?” Claire said.

“Yeah,” Dean snorted, leading Claire through to the kitchen. “Make all the jokes you want, I’ve heard them all. Hell freezes over at least one a year.”

Dean didn’t bother to take off his shoes – the carpet was stained anyway. He went straight to the kitchen counter, looking for the phone charger. He found it right away, plugged into the wall above a prep counter, its cord leading to a little ceramic trinket dish shaped like a donut, with colourful sprinkles raised in the dip.

Taking the cord and wrapping it around and around his hands, Dean looked expectantly at Claire. She had to be, what, seventeen now? She’d outgrown the acne and the chubby cheeks – or perhaps she was wearing makeup. She’d done it so well that Dean couldn’t tell. Her cheeks weren’t ruddy despite the cold, but her nose was red and her eyes were pink, and she kept her gaze shifting. She turned her head, and Dean saw how half her bleached hair was braided back along one side of her head, tight to her scalp.

“I’m waiting,” Dean said, pocketing the cord. “You need some food to get you going? Raid the fridge, Cas ain’t coming back anytime soon. He’s camped out at my place.”

Claire startled at that, meeting Dean’s eyes. “You know him? Castiel?”

Dean forced away heat that rose in him like a flame. “Duh. Apartment keys.” He waggled the taco, making it jingle. “One juvie B-and-E charge is enough for one lifetime.”

Claire smiled a tiny bit. “I haven’t seen him in six years.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that,” Dean said lightly, going past Claire, shooting a curious glance her way. “Did Jody not let you see him?”

“No, I didn’t want to,” Claire answered, following at Dean’s heels, barely hesitating as they left the apartment again, and Dean prepared to lock up. “Jody gave me the address when I asked.”

“Why the change of heart?” Dean pried, pocketing the keyring and leading Claire back out into the street. Their bootsteps and soft breaths were all that disturbed the streetlamp-bathed stillness of the crystal world.

Claire shrugged, sticking her hands into her parka’s deep pockets. Her breath came out in a golden cloud as she sighed.

She was quiet for a while, then looked at Dean. “Why are _you_ here?”

Dean grinned. “When all else fails, you learn to make Hell your home. I live here,” he shrugged. “I... y’know, make the effort to make connections. Friends. And sometimes they need their phone chargers.”

“So you’re friends with my dad?”

“Oh, he’s your _dad_ now? After six years of you not wanting anything to do with him. You’re gonna be pals now, is that it?”

Claire gave Dean a narrow-eyed stare, which was unnervingly similar to Castiel’s judgemental squint.

“Just saying,” Dean said, raising a hand to his shoulder, palm open. “ _He’s_ not the one that’s estranged. I’ve known the guy a year and he always tells me how his family wants nothing to do with him.”

“Hey!” Claire snapped. “As a minor, with an adoptive family, I have _every_ right to decide whether or not I want to see my birth parents. Butt out, _Dean_.”

Dean smiled. “You’re every bit Jody’s kid, for the record.”

“Damn straight.” Claire huffed. “He’s not family to me, not yet. But I do want to know him. Even if Jody says not to rush things.”

“That’s why you ran away? On Christmas Day. She told you not to rush, and you packed up anyway.”

Claire watched the ground guiltily, kicking up snow as she walked beside Dean.

“I get it, you know,” Dean said, eyes on the few stars he could see past the roofs. “If I’d ever been offered the chance to get to know my dad, I would’ve taken it. Sonny’s Home for Boys was great and all, but...”

Claire smiled, even if it was a sad smile. She and Dean were in perfect understanding. “A real home’s always better.”

“You wanted to spend Christmas with him? Your dad?”

Claire rolled a shoulder, shifting the hood on her coat. “Think he’d want to?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” He looked softly at the girl, nodding again. “I think he’d give just about anything to have a family again.” His eyes left Claire and went to the shining beacon of light across the road. “Gotta make one stop, though, before we go see him.”

They crossed the empty street together, hopping up onto a salted sidewalk, entering the convenience store with squinting, light-blinded eyes. The smell of new things in packets blazed into the back of Dean’s throat, snacks and plastic and car oil. He grabbed a basket and began throwing things into it – extra large energy bars, fruit roll-ups, salted caramel chocolate—

“Jeez, what are you stocking up for, an Olympic marathon?”

“Could say that,” Dean said, hungry eyes falling to a six-pack of beer, and he took that under his arm. He looked around, spotting a sign for the aisle of personal items.

He grabbed tissues, shaving cream, another bubbly bath bomb, a bottle of lube half the size of his forearm, and then held out the basket for Claire to sneak in a hairbrush, both of them knowing instinctively that Claire needed one, and Dean didn’t have one.

“The _fuck_ is _that_ for,” Claire intoned, seeing the bottle of lube. “Please tell me it’s a cheap car repair hack.”

“Hey, my baby only gets the best,” Dean said, avoiding Claire’s eyes. He was aware his knee-jerk car-defending response only made her more suspicious of the bottle, so he cleared his throat. “Look away now if you want to preserve your innocence.”

“What innocence,” Claire said disdainfully, watching as Dean put the biggest box of condoms he could find into the basket. Claire’s nose wrinkled. “Ew.”

“I warned you. Nothing ‘ew’ about protection, okay. Sooner you learn that, the better off you’ll be.”

Claire sulked. She put a supersize bag of M&Ms and a bunch of almost-ripe bananas on the checkout counter, just as Dean handed the yawning clerk his debit card. Dean said nothing.

Dean led Claire on the ten-minute walk back to his place, comforted by the fact she didn’t ask questions, but also dreading the moment she realised her once-elusive sperm-donor father had spent the last thirty-plus hours lying naked on various surfaces around Dean’s apartment.

Oh, boy.

Dean buzzed the door to his own building with his knuckle.

After some scuffling, a deeply fatigued voice answered. “ _Dean?_ ”

“Yeah, who’d you think, smart-ass? The three a.m. mailman? Buzz us in.”

“ _Okay. Where’s the—? Oh, there’s the button. Found it._ ” The door gargled, and then clicked unlocked. A pause. “ _Wait— Who’s ‘us’?_ ”

Dean’s gaze slipped to Claire, who stood as tall as his shoulder, looking up at him with both worry and determination in her eyes, as if she desperately wanted him to make this easy for her, but wasn’t sure if he would.

Dean gave her his gentlest smile. Leaning closer to the intercom, he answered Castiel: “Me. And your daughter. She’s, uh... come to visit.”

☙ · · · ♥ · · · ❧

After some kerfuffling, which Dean and Claire could hear all the way up as they climbed the stairs – Castiel opened the door to Dean’s apartment wearing only his trenchcoat, hastily tying the waist belt around him. It was obvious he was naked underneath, but that wasn’t enough to deter Claire from throwing her arms around his neck, hugging him.

Dean watched as Castiel’s expression turned from one of shock and worry to a smile. He shut his eyes, placing one of his beautifully angular hands into Claire’s tangled mane.

Claire sighed, swaying into the hug. Her voice came out shattered as she admitted, lowly, “I... I missed you.”

A flash of anguish crossed Castiel’s face, and Dean felt himself welling up, just a bit.

“Me too,” Castiel said at last, as Claire leaned away. Castiel still held her shoulders, meeting her eyes. “I missed you more than words could ever say, Claire.” He blinked twice, but the shine was still visible in his waterline. “What are you _doing_ here?” He paused. “What are you doing _here_?”

“Translation, what are _you_ doing here?” Claire joked, but Castiel shook his head.

“Come on,” Castiel said, taking Claire by her coat sleeve, welcoming her into Dean’s apartment. “Dean, you too.”

“Gee, thanks, not like it’s my place or anything,” Dean said, shucking off his wool coat, then taking Claire’s to hang up too. He held out a hand for Castiel’s coat, only for them both to grin, Castiel batting away the hand. He pulled the trenchcoat tighter around himself, following Claire towards the lounge.

“Sit down, relax,” Castiel said. “Do you need anything? I can make noodles. And the wash room has good soap.”

“Thanks,” Claire said, floating towards the couch.

Dean darted forward. “Wai-wait—” He stopped Claire, then realised Castiel had tidied up all the condoms. “Oh. Never mind.”

“Maybe—” Castiel reached for her too. “Maybe sit on a barstool instead.”

“Not that one!” Dean yelped, pulling out a different one. “That one’s dirty—”

“ _Faulty_ ,” Castiel said. Dean caught his eye and nodded.

“I’m gonna get it... fixed.”

“You gonna fix the couch while you’re at it?” Claire asked, eyebrows up. She perched on her barstool like she expected it to bite her.

“So,” Dean said, addressing Castiel, “ _Claire_ decided it was a great idea to skip town on Christmas night, to come visit her papa. Real Christmas treat for Jody, that was. She’s _super_ happy about it, as you might imagine. She was calling your cellphone just to tell us how she’s _totally_ over the moon.”

“You’re being sarcastic,” Castiel said.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Dean smiled, eyebrows wrinkling together.

Castiel looked to Claire’s sheepish form in concern. “How did you get here?”

“Six Ubers,” Claire mumbled.

“You didn’t bring any belongings?”

Claire shrugged a shoulder, dislodging a white shoelace-type hoodie string, which swung down to stick to her reindeer t-shirt. “All in my coat pockets.”

“We can sort the couch out,” Dean said, giving Castiel a quick look. “Get her some blankets and whatever. Set up camp for tonight. Claire – you feelin’ tired? Hungry?”

Claire licked her chapped lips. “I need the bathroom,” she said, getting up and pushing between Dean and Castiel, making a beeline for the linen closet.

“Other door, on the right,” Dean called, and Claire switched course. She slammed the door and locked herself in.

Dean sighed.

Castiel looked at him gently. “She really came to see me?”

“Yeah. Found her huddled on your doorstep. Poor kid probably waited hours.”

Castiel looked down at his folded arms, frowning.

“Hey,” Dean said, touching Castiel’s bicep. “Don’t feel bad. Look how things played out. Your phone died so we missed Jody’s calls. So I went to get your charger. So I found Claire. Imagine if we’d picked up the call the first time, huh? All of us would’ve been worried sick, but we wouldn’t have gotten back to your place any faster. Best thing we can do now is warm her up and give her a safe place to sleep.”

Castiel smiled, a tender look in his eye. “In this past year... whenever you mentioned Jody and her daughter, I always felt this... pang inside me, a little darkness. I’d find myself steering the conversation away. I suppose it was jealousy. Envy. You’ve been more of a parent to Claire than I ever could be.”

“It just happened that way,” Dean said. “Me and Jody go back years, y’know? I knew her before she adopted Claire. Went to your barbershop on Jody’s recommendation. Until tonight I had no clue Claire was biologically yours. But it makes total sense now, y’know? All I knew was that she’s a mini-golf champion, maintains a Hot Topic aesthetic, and is a big fan of Internet-famous cats.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “See, I didn’t even know that.”

“Was Claire’s choice to keep you in the dark,” Dean shook his head. “It’s not your fault, Cas. She wants you in her life _now_. So... let her in.”

Castiel wet his lips, casting his eyes away from Dean’s. After all the things they’d shared these past couple of nights, this felt like a completely different kind of vulnerability. Castiel couldn’t let him see.

But after a moment, Castiel wanted Dean to see. He looked him in the eyes and smiled weakly, as tears slipped from his lashes and tickled down his cheeks. He covered his face with both palms, breathing out, shuddering as Dean moved to wrap him in a comforting hug.

“Easy,” Dean said. “Eaaasy.” He kissed Castiel’s temple. “You got this, man. You wished for family, and you got it now. We’ve got you.”

Castiel nodded, sniffling as he pulled back. “I did wish for this.”

Dean gasped. “Shoot! Jody!” He began patting around for his phone. “Promised I’d call her back. Here, you take this—” He handed Castiel his iPhone charger and the bag of supplies. “There’s a tub of disinfectant wipes under the sink, they’ll do the couch just fine. Barstool too.”

Castiel gave a dutiful nod, and Dean hastened away.

Jody picked up on the first ring. “ _Update me._ ”

Dean grinned. “Your girl’s home safe with me. Cas is here. Claire’s in the bathroom. We bought snacks, and a hairbrush. We’re all good.”

Jody’s exhale was heavy with relief.

“Look, uh,” Dean went on, “Jody...? I... I think Claire knows she hurt you. And I don’t think it was intentional. She just wanted to see her daddy real bad. And you ‘n me know from experience, alright, Christmas without _all_ the people you love – it just ain’t the same.”

Jody was quiet for a bit, then huffed, a smile in her voice. “ _All right. I’m packed. I’m headed your way._ ”

“Packed— Wait, what?”

“ _This post-Christmas party’s moving to Michigan. I’ll be there in – ah – ten hours. Bus doesn’t leave ‘til six._ ”

“Six in the morning,” Dean repeated. He tugged on his overshirt collar, blinking. “So... you’ll be here mid-afternoon? Um. Awesome.”

Though initially confused, the fatigue fuzz in his brain cleared a little, and he nodded. “Awesome,” he said again, meaning it this time. “We’ll have dinner ready by the time you get here.”

“ _See you soon, Dean. Tell Claire I’m... glad she’s all right. But I’m still mad._ ”

“Right. See ya, Jody.”

He hung up, feeling positively giddy about the rest of the day. While for some, Christmas came early, or perhaps right on time – Dean and Castiel’s Christmas came a day after they expected it. But... better late than never, right?

☙ · · · ♥ · · · ❧

“Nononono _no_ —”

Dean waggled his game controller as Claire cackled evilly, butting her digital golf ball into the target hole on the TV screen.

“ _Guurrgh_ ,” Dean declared, flipping his controller into the couch cushions. “Urrrgh.”

“Birdie! Again! Dean, just admit it: you’re bad at golf.”

“Pschh,” Dean said, leaning forward. He still scowled, but the expression broke into a fond smile as he peered sideways at Claire. She was freshly-bathed and tired-looking, but clearly happy.

“I’m not bad at this,” Dean told her. “I’ve won seventy-four out of eighty-two online games, a’right. You’re just... _freakishly_ good at it.”

Claire wrinkled her brows in Dean’s direction, a perplexed smile sneaking up her face. “Thanks?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean said, rolling his eyes as he got up. “Least I’ve got some real competition now. I’ll have your high score beat by tomorrow.”

He strutted over to Castiel in the kitchen, rolling up his plaid shirtsleeves as he went. “Hey, barber,” Dean joked, coiling one arm around Castiel’s warm waist, leaning in to kiss his neck. Castiel flinched, laughing as he ducked. “Ticklish?” Dean asked, nuzzling his nape.

“Ye-hes! Stop it,” Castiel wheezed, squirming out of Dean’s kissing range. “Jody arrives in an hour, I need to finish these.”

“These what? What are you even making?”

“Savoury pancakes,” Castiel said. In the frying pan was a lumpy, round pattie, cream-coloured, with flecks of spices from Dean’s pantry. It sizzled around the edges.

Dean bent down with his hands on his knees, peering through the mostly-black oven glass. “Mmmm. Turkey’s almost done.”

“Eight more minutes,” Castiel agreed. He took a spatula, scooting it around the edge of the pancake, and then flipped it neatly over with the same tool.

“You know you could flip it without the spatula,” Dean said. “‘S how I always do it.”

“I’d rather be sure I won’t drop it,” Castiel shrugged.

“I’ll show you, if you want?” Dean suggested, cuddling up to Castiel’s back, arms around his middle. He tucked his chin over Castiel’s shoulder. “Yeah?”

Castiel smiled, one arm hugging Dean’s hand. “Okay. If you must.”

“So you gotta shimmy the pan around a bit – see?” Dean held the pan handle over Castiel’s hand, and guided him in a shifty-shaky movement to loosen the pancake on the base of the pan. “Then – ready? Whup!” He made the pancake flip over, and together they caught it perfectly, with nary a spill of uncooked batter or a wayward splatter of grease.

Castiel laughed in awe, turning his head so he could meet Dean’s eyes softly. “I’ve never done it before.”

Dean snuck him a kiss, holding close for a moment before ducking back. “Try it.” He let go of the pan, and slowly... carefully... Castiel did the same flip again.

Dean clapped Castiel on the back, sharing his celebratory grin. He moved in for one more hug, squeezing tight.

“So, like,” Claire said from nearby, leaning her shoulder against the fridge, “are you two dating, or what?”

Dean removed himself from Castiel’s back, immediately feeling his cheeks pinken.

“‘Cause,” Claire went on, tucking a blonde lock behind her ear, “if Cas is my dad, and Dean’s my sorta-dad, and Jody’s my mom, but Dean’s Jody’s honorary son-slash-friend, what does that even make you two?”

Dean shook his head. “Family,” he said. “That’s what.”

Castiel turned to face him, and they gazed at each other with a loving smile before finding themselves lip-to-lip, neither quite sure how they got there.

Dean bowed his head and backed away, still beaming, and blushing. “Um,” he said, eyes darting to Claire. “For the record, Claire... Uh.”

“What,” Claire intoned.

“Nobody really, ummm.” Dean reached to rub the back of his burning neck. “See, thing is— I haven’t exactlyyy...”

“Spit it _out_ , Porky.”

Dean laughed under his breath, tension relieved by Claire’s familiar joke. “Official story is I’m... straight as a tin whistle.”

“Right,” Claire chuckled. “And I’m _bad_ at golf.”

Dean slumped, catching Castiel’s curious eyes before looking away with a huff. “Look, just— When Jody shows up, do me a favour, kid, just keep this—” he wafted a hand between himself and Castiel, “—under wraps. At least until I know how to even explain what’s going on with me. I got some shit to figure out before I go shouting from the rooftops. Okay?”

Claire narrowed her eyes. “If _you_ two can keep it in your pants for one night? Sure.”

Dean gulped, nodding. “Thanks.”

“But you’re, like, bi or something, aren’t you? Why not just say that? Jody would get it.”

Dean glanced at Claire unsurely. “I’m what-now?”

“Bisexual.”

Dean flushed hot. “I—! Whoa. Look, I dunno what kinda sex ed they teach in schools nowadays, but _wow_. Personal question aside – and I mean – _wow_ – I only have _one_ kind of junk and that includes a _dick_. What d’ya think is filling out these sweatpants, a pair of novelty Christmas socks?” He gestured at his crotch.

Claire gaped at him.

Castiel was the first to laugh, snorting into a muffling hand, face turned away.

Claire broke a moment later, folding forward, giggling and giggling until her face turned red and her eyelashes clumped together with tears.

Castiel soon sobered, rubbing Dean’s back affectionately, grinning, but Claire still guffawed, holding her stomach and wheezing.

“What,” Dean whispered to himself. “What’d I say?”

Claire hiccuped, straightening up and taking some deep, calming breaths. “Buh...” was all she managed before collapsing into laughter again, one hand gripping Dean’s t-shirt so she didn’t fall over.

“Hee... Heeeeee,” Claire finally breathed, pulling herself together.

“Sorry,” she snickered. “Sh-shouldn’t laugh. Just—? Heeh.”

Dean, all cross and bothered now, demanded: “What’s so funny, exactly?”

“Bisexual,” Claire said. “ _Ah_ -haaa! It means... attraction to... at least two genders. Not—” She wheezed.

“Not—” Dean repeated, finally getting it. “Not two kinds of junk. Oh my God.” He caught Claire’s eyes and grinned with her. “So, wait, that’s a thing? Bi-sexual? Girls _and_ guys? And-or other?”

Claire nodded. Castiel nodded.

Dean felt his heart flip. “I don’t have to pick?”

“Pick?” Castiel asked.

“If I’m gay or straight.” Dean felt his body cooling with relief, washing down him in waves. “Oh, thank God.” He flopped his forehead onto Castiel’s shoulder, relaxing there while Castiel flipped another pancake.

Dean swallowed, lifting his head. “Last couple nights I’ve just been... driving myself crazy. Trying to figure out which team I’m s’posed to bat for now. Do I still like girls? Yeah. But do I wanna—”

He stopped suddenly, almost biting his tongue.

Castiel looked at him with his calm blue eyes, tilting his head by an inch. “What,” he urged.

Dean swallowed, eyes on his thumbnail as he plucked at a loose thread in the borrowed ‘Cuddle The Cook’ apron Castiel wore. Dean breathed out, and finished, “‘Round and ‘round in my head. Same thing. Askin’ myself. Do I wanna go back to girls after Cas?”

Castiel didn’t even blink. “Do you?”

Dean shook his head, unable to meet Castiel’s gaze. “Not unless you ‘n me... broke up officially.”

“So you _are_ dating,” Claire said.

Dean and Castiel stared at each other.

“Do you _wanna_ date me?” Dean asked.

Castiel shrugged. “Do you want to date _me_?”

“Wait, if you’re not dating, what are you doing together, exactly?” Claire asked.

“Cuddling, mostly,” Dean said without care, ignoring when Claire recoiled, gagging dramatically.

Even Castiel blushed this time. His smile was bright in his eyes, and he nodded, exhaling on Dean’s lips.

“Yeah?” Dean asked, surprised.

Castiel kissed him. “Yeah.”

Dean sniffed. “Whoop—” He shoved Castiel aside and grabbed for the frying pan, flipping the pancake over to reveal a blackened underside. “Hey,” Dean remarked, nudging Castiel. “Look.”

Right in the middle of the burnt herb pancake, one little section was perfectly browned. And it very much resembled a loveheart.

☙ · · · ♥ · · · ❧

Dean snatched his phone from the nightstand, yanking it off its charger so he could answer it. “Jody! Yo. Turkey’s done, Claire’s setting up a Christmas playlist so we got some tunes—”

“ _I’m not Jody,_ ” said a deep, confused voice at the other end of the line. “ _Sam told me I should call you._ ”

“Jack?!” Dean blanched. “Wow, sorry, kid. Barely slept last night.”

“ _I’m very sorry to hear that, Dean. We’re on the road numbered ninety-four, just past a town named Kalamazoo._ ”

Dean blinked twice. “Wait, you’re not home in Montana?”

“ _No, we stayed in a Holiday Inn in Minnesota over Christmas. I thought Sam told you?_ ”

“What? Yeah! But—”

“ _Here, let me talk to him,_ ” said a distant mutter over the phone. Then came a crackle, and Sam’s more determined voice reached Dean’s ears. “ _Hey, Dean, it’s me. Look, here’s the deal: the car broke down. We’re about sixty miles from your place. Five days out from the no-call-outs insurance bonus – perfect timing, right? Would you mind coming to tow us in? I’ll pay for the gas._ ”

Dean blanked. His eyes darted to the doorway of the bedroom, where Castiel appeared, leaning on the door jamb and wiping his floury hands on a dishtowel, looking at Dean curiously.

“ _Dean?_ ”

“Wh— Yeah, yeah, Sam. I’ll come pick you up. I’ll get my stuff – tow chain and whatever—” Dean shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he fought to think straight. “But dude, since when were you still coming? I thought you were riding out the snowstorm and then heading back home.”

“ _Yeah, well,_ ” Sam huffed, “ _our Christmas sucked. Only way to fix it is to actually see my brother in person._ ”

Dean smiled. “Aw. Sweet.”

“ _You better have left some pie for us._ ”

“PIE!” Dean realised, clicking his fingers, pointing at Cas. “That’s what we’re missing. There’s canned cherries in the pantry.”

Sam snorted. “ _Wow. Your Christmas must’ve sucked worse than ours, if you forgot the_ pie _._ ”

Dean chuckled nervously. “Yeah. Okay.” He cleared his throat. “All right, I’m coming to meet you. Keep in touch.”

“ _Will do. And thanks._ ”

“See you in an hour or so. Bye.”

“ _Bye, Dean._ ”

Dean pocketed his phone, and sauntered over to Castiel. “Looks like it’s gonna be a full house. You okay sticking around, keeping the place standing while I go get Sammy?”

Castiel chuckled. “I’ve been here almost two days straight, Dean. My daughter’s here. I have a toothbrush in the bathroom; I’m sharing your soap. Your bedsheets are softer than mine. Your oven is efficient. Not to mention that your ceiling _isn’t_ caving in. This place is practically home to me by now.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Wanna put that in writing?”

“Pardon me?”

Dean flustered, grinning as he looked down. “Later.” He kissed Castiel’s cheek and eased past him. “Don’t let Jody tear Claire apart when she gets here, okay? Last thing any of us need is a family gathering just like every other one in our lives.”

☙ · · · ♥ · · · ❧

Dean spotted Sam’s pickup truck stalled at the side of the road, a half-inch of snow piled on the roof, emergency lights flashing. The sun was going down behind the clouds, so through the gloom, the flashing lights seemed aggressively bright and pitiful at once.

As carefully and cautiously as he could, Dean made an illegal turning from one side of the road to the other.

He pulled up in front of Sam’s truck and reversed until they were nearly bumper-to-bumper.

A smile graced Dean’s face as he saw Sam and his adopted son climbing out of the vehicle, dressed in identical green parkas. Sam’s coat was barely a blazer, but on Jack the coat came to his knees and the fluffy hood almost covered his pale face entirely. The comparison spoke more about how tall Sam was, as opposed to how small Jack was. The kid was fifteen now, and he was nearly full-grown already.

Dean left his Impala’s engine running as he got out of the car, breathing out a white cloud as he wrapped his wool coat tighter around his chest. “Heeey,” he called, as Sam and Jack trudged through ankle-deep snowfall, boots dirty with road mush.

Sam wrapped Dean in his arms first, squeezing his head to his shoulder. “Hey, Dean. Long time no see, huh?”

Dean chuckled, letting his eyes water freely. But he blinked back his tears as he lifted his head; he imagined they might freeze in this weather.

“What the hell is this?” Sam laughed, poking Dean’s scruff. “You’ve got a whole entire bear hibernating on your face.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean said, running his fingers and thumb around his open mouth, feeling how the bristles were no longer bristles, but a very short beard. “I’m, uh, going for a Santa’s-early-years kinda vibe.”

Jack came up to Dean and pushed his arms under Dean’s elbows, hugging him.

“‘Sup, kid.” Dean patted Jack’s back. “How’s Sasquatch treating you?”

“Good,” Jack said. He fell back on his heels, looking proudly up at Dean. “I missed you.”

“Yeah, I missed you too,” Dean said wholeheartedly. “C’mon, get your ass in my car before it falls off.”

“Can that happen?” Jack asked, doing as Dean said.

Dean laughed, shooting Sam an amused look.

“Sure,” Sam said. “Probably, when it’s this cold.”

Dean shook his head, catching Jack’s grey eyes from over the Impala’s black roof. He patted the car. “This baby’ll keep you in one piece. You two sit tight, I’ll lash the cars together.”

He went to the trunk, and opened it to pull out a tow kit. Soon they’d be on their way, and the giant smile on Dean’s face was coming with them.

☙ · · · ♥ · · · ❧

Castiel opened the door, allowing Dean to set eyes on Jody and Claire mid-embrace, right in the centre of the living room.

“Jody just arrived,” Castiel said quietly, eyes turned to the reunion. “Neither of them said a word.”

The moment Jody fell off Claire, Dean grinned, offering a hand to take Jody’s coat. With a mutter of thanks, she shucked it off her strong frame, shaking half-melted snowflakes from her greying pixie-cut as she handed her coat over.

“Jody,” Dean said. “Guess you’ve met Cas.”

“Only twice, in passing,” Jody said, reaching to shake his hand. “Good to see you again, Castiel.”

“And you. You’ve raised a wonderful daughter, Ms. Mills,” Castiel said kindly. “If she’s anything like you, I have no doubt you and I will get along famously.”

Claire’s eyes darted to Dean’s, her cheeks rosy with delight.

“Cas, uh,” Dean said, glancing to Sam as they all took their coats off, “this here’s my brother. Sam— Castiel. Cas is Claire’s dad.”

“Wait, really?” Sam said, surprised. “Sperm donor guy?”

“Ah.” Castiel blushed, eyes down. “Yes. That would be me. Adult... virgin.”

Sam laughed and brought Castiel in for a hug, surprising him so much he laughed. Dean grinned, sharing a secretive look with Claire. She winked.

Catching Castiel’s gaze, Dean cocked his head towards the smaller, stern-looking figure hiding behind Sam, wearing a tan jacket, with a swoosh of browny-blonde hair that hung over his right eyebrow. “Cas, this is Jack.”

“Oh?” Castiel dropped back from Sam’s bear hug, meeting Jack’s eyes. “Oh, of course. Sam’s son.”

“Hello!” Jack raised a hand, putting on a bright smile.

Dean snickered. “He likes you already, Cas.”

“Of course he does,” Castiel said, reaching to shake Jack’s hand. He touched Jack’s elbow as they shook. “Do you want something to eat? The turkey’s done—”

“Do you have nougat?” Jack asked.

“Nougat?”

“I like nougat.”

Dean snickered, beaming at Sam. “Show him the fridge, Sammy. Nougat’s in the door. Me, I gotta make a call.”

As he turned away, Dean smiled at the hubbub of excited conversation that struck up behind him. While half of Dean’s family were strangers to Castiel at present, he had every faith that they’d be best friends within a single hour. It was hard _not_ to love the guy, and Dean was easy proof.

And on the subject of friends...

“Charlie?” Dean pressed one finger to his ear to block out the chatter, listening hard to his cellphone. “Hey, you okay to talk?”

“ _What? Oi, Dodo, turn the music down— Dean, is that you?_ ”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Dean laughed. “You free tonight?”

“ _Uhh. Why. You need me to hold your hand while you get a ‘flu shot, or is there a new_ Dr. Sexy _episode out that I didn’t know about?_ ”

“Neither,” Dean said lightly, beaming at the sight of Jack and Claire taking Castiel by either hand, pulling him to the TV so they could play a round of golf. “It’s Christmas, ain’t it?”

“ _Dude! Did you sleep through the big day? Hate to be the bearer of bad news, Dean, but it’s December twenty-sixth._ ”

“Still Christmas in Australia...?”

“ _No, it’s not._ ”

“Just get over here, would you? Sam’s here, Jody’s here. Whole gang. Plus—” Dean lowered his voice and turned his back on the rest of his family. “There’s... y’know. Someone I want you to meet.”

Charlie gasped. “ _You got a rabbit?!_ ”

Dean scoffed. “Better. Just come over. Bring the crew. And something soft to sleep on, I get the feeling we’re short on beds.”

He hung up without needing a reply. Smiling contentedly, he drifted over to the couch, leaning on the back to watch Claire utterly thrash the competition.

☙ · · · ♥ · · · ❧

Charlie arrived wearing an eye mask like a bandana, messing up her short-cropped red hair. She had a folding mattress under her arm and she wore her flannel pyjamas like a business suit, ready for a hardcore slumber party.

“Charlie,” Dean said, kissing his friend on the forehead.

Trailing after her came Charlie’s more somber wife, a determined-looking individual with her dark hair in a ponytail, wearing her usual khaki, carrying a purse that mimicked a leather briefcase. Archaeologist chic, Charlie called it.

“Dorothy,” Dean said, giving her a half-hug.

Third, and finally, came Charlie’s resident Dungeon Master, Kevin Tran. He wore a floppy Santa hat over his black hair, a candy cane hanging from his lower lip. “‘Sup,” Kevin said, as Dean slung his arm over Kevin’s slight frame, squeezing his shoulders.

“Charlie!” Jack yelped, abandoning the golf game to run and meet Charlie, hugging her tight. “You were right, Mercury _was_ in retrograde!”

“Hate to say I told ya so,” Charlie said, “but I _totally_ did.”

“Claire,” Dean called, clicking his fingers to distract her away from the fantasy golf course. “This is Kevin.”

Claire grinned like a Cheshire cat, and informed Kevin, with _great_ relish, “I beat your _Donkey Kong_ high score.”

Kevin’s jaw dropped and the candy cane was lost under the couch. He sat down, snatched up Jack’s abandoned controller, exited the golf game, and began loading up _Donkey Kong_ again. Claire just laughed, falling back into the couch cushions.

“So,” Dorothy said, sidling up to Dean. “Who’s the girl?”

“What girl?” Dean asked, meeting her eyes in confusion, registering her quirked eyebrow. “There’s no girl?”

Charlie left Jack and eased against her wife’s side. “Pet rabbit?”

“Oh! Right,” Dean said, remembering how he’d got Charlie over here in the first place. “No rabbit either.” He started to feel heat under his collar, a slight panic rising inside him. _Oh, crap_ , he thought. He’d boxed himself in.

In a well-concealed fluster, Dean cheerfully asked the room, “So! How was everyone’s Christmas?”

A group groan filled the living room.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “That bad, huh?”

Sam scoffed from the dining table, pouring wine into Jody’s glass. “ _You_ try spending a week on the freezing, icy road when you only intended to be out for two days. Thank God the storm passed when it did or we’d still be at some random hotel.”

Jody looked grimly at Claire. “Our Christmas was going great until a certain someone decided it was _lacking_.”

Claire huffed in disdain. “Hey, my Christmas was perfect until you said we weren’t going anywhere ‘cause of the stupid storm, and we couldn’t see Dean, or my dad, or—”

Charlie interrupted with, “ _My_ parents spent the whole time asking when I was going to find a _real_ spouse – i.e. a man.” She rolled her eyes and took a seat on the far end of the couch, comforted by Dorothy’s arm around her shoulder.

“My high score got beaten,” Kevin said sadly, making Claire smile again.

“The hotel didn’t have nougat,” Jack said, chewing a fun-size 3 Musketeers candy bar in one cheek.

“What about you?” Sam asked, quickly catching Dean’s attention. “How’d you spend your Christmas?”

Dean’s eyes shot to Castiel, who was perched on the arm of the couch. Cas looked down, tugging on the hem of his borrowed t-shirt.

“Um,” Dean said. _Don’t say ‘screwing Cas’. Don’t say ‘screwing Cas’._

“Dean and I spent some time together,” Castiel said carefully, eyes on the floor, then flicking to Claire. “It wasn’t too bad. Quite enjoyable, really.”

“Ugh,” Kevin said, muting the TV and leaning back in his seat. “The rest of us had a shitty Christmas; you couldn’t do us the favour of _suffering_ too?”

Claire looked at Kevin in amusement. “Wow, okay, Basement Cat. You want some extra salt with that side of misery?”

Charlie scoffed. She met Claire’s eyes from either end of the couch, and they shared a companionable grin.

“So what did you actually do?” Kevin asked, giving Dean an apologetic look.

Dean shrugged. “Just... stuff. Y’know. Friend stuff.”

“What kiiiind of stuff,” Charlie pried, apparently catching on that there was something Dean wasn’t saying. She leaned forward in her seat, her impish expression giving away the fact she’d already figured out the mystery. “Tell us about it, Dean.”

Dean lapped at his lips, too nervous to speak.

Charlie noticed. She leaned back again, giving a careless laugh. “Oh my God, did I tell you guys about the time a guy tried to woo me by buying me a trampoline? It was crazy. Dorothy was there, weren’t you—”

Charlie went on, and her easy chatter helped Dean calm down. He let his jaw go slack and his mind blur into a daze, mumbled voices and soft, tumbly laughter filling up his peripheral awareness when the group laughed as one.

Dean’s eyes tracked to Castiel’s.

Cas was staring. Understanding.

Dean could only manage a half-smile.

Slowly, Dean backed away from the couch, trying to sneak off unnoticed. He got his coat, and got as far as opening the door before Sam spotted him.

Sam was alert enough to realise Dean didn’t want attention. Still, the confusion showed in his face as he mouthed, all the way from the dining table, “ _Where are you going?_ ”

Dean mouthed back, “ _Get some spare beds._ ”

To be honest, he didn’t know where he was going. But he needed some air.

He shut the door behind him in total silence, and fled his own apartment with his heart in his throat.

☙ · · · ♥ · · · ❧

Dean kicked along the sidewalk, eyes on the purple sky. The sun was long gone, but what remained of its light smothered the twinkling of the faintest stars, just visible past the thick grey clouds that whisked along at an alarming speed.

The air smelled of fresh, crisp snow, and a tired world, tired of the year and tired of too many thoughts.

A sharp breeze slapped Dean’s face every so often, making him long for a scarf. He could only lift the collar of his black coat, huddling back inside it like a tortoise with a retracting neck.

With Dean’s hands sinking deep into his pockets, he crossed the road, and wandered.

Bisexual.

It ought to be so easy. _Guys, I’m bi. Merry Bimas, and a Happy Bi Year._

But...

But he didn’t _want_ to. He wanted them to _know_ , but he didn’t want to say it. It seemed so unnecessary. They were his closest buddies, sure, but they didn’t need to know his dick’s preferences. Dean had no interest in learning what Jody googled in her spare time, or what kind of toys Kevin hoarded in Charlie and Dorothy’s basement. Porn, pleasure, and the way Dean defined his sexuality wasn’t relevant to the general public; it didn’t _matter_.

Then again...

Dean gulped. His thing with Cas was more than just sex. In the year they’d known each other, it had become personal, and now it felt like it had true emotional depth when they shared a smile, and found the right words to comfort each other. They had a _relationship_.

That was relevant. That was important for friends and family to know. Dean had someone special.

Dean smiled to himself. His cloud of relieved breath glowed in the light of the storefronts as he approached. He pushed open a glass door on autopilot, his head a blur of self-reflection.

Hey... what if...

He sorted through all the crushes he’d had, growing up. Singers. Wrestlers. Sportswomen. Cowboys.

Until now Dean only liked girls, officially. But... _man_ , did he like dick too. A sneaky smile sprouted on his face at the thought. He liked girls in a sexy, romantic way, and for so long that solid fact had eclipsed every other attraction he’d felt, and he’d never paused to wonder for more than a second – _what if the other stuff was real too?_

Okay, sure, serious physical attraction to men was rare, but when it hit him, it _hit_ him. Looking at dudes got him hot sometimes, and he just rolled with it. Imagining himself getting busy with another guy was like... a sexual fantasy. Something that stayed in head and was never made real.

Maybe all this time Dean’s sexual attraction had been half-and-half. Girls. Boys. And those confusing moments when Dean wasn’t sure which box they fit into, but he liked them anyway. And it had taken him until now to even realise. The boys _counted_. They weren’t exceptions to the rule. They were just as much a part of his history as the others.

But when those fantasies came with _feelings_ —

Dean breathed out a stunned laugh, wandering aimlessly into the snack aisle, empty hands hanging by his thighs.

‘Bisexual’ was a word in his brain now. ‘ _Hetero_ sexual’ was always a thing. And straight people getting together with their partners wasn’t _just_ about sex, the way Dean associated gay stuff with oh-shit-that’s-kinda-hot stuff. There was _romance_ and wooing and babies and apartments that came with that heterosexual crap. And other stuff, like cuddles.... and hugs... and... talking for hours and hours, being real good friends... laughing together about how _ridiculously_ bad Cas was at digital golf, but how decent he was with a broomstick and a ping-pong ball...

So that meant...

That meant ‘bisexual’ could be about romance too.

Dean froze where he stood, staring at the packaged peanuts.

All this time—?

Wait, _all_ this time? Throughout his whole life, he’d liked certain men in a romantic way and never realised.

Dean drew in a slow, deep breath.

So! _That_ was why the poster of wrestling champion Gunner Lawless made Dean’s chest feel so funny, whenever he’d stared up at it, crashed out on his bed after school. He’d just thought it was... admiration.

Once, it was just a good cologne. The guy at the Blockbuster store had a stunning smile, too, and his hands were always warm. Years before – it was just because Dean and the other kid were close friends who hung out behind the bike shed at recess, sharing strawberry gum. Then just because Dean’s heavily-tattooed roommate borrowed his girlfriend’s pants that one time and they made his ass look kinda cute, and he was always sweet to Dean.

Excuses? No, those weren’t excuses. Until this very moment Dean hadn’t realised how many times he’d felt a certain way about other boys, other men. He couldn’t help the fact he’d never done anything about it.

Because—?

 _Because!_ Oh, shit. Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head as he realised.

Because until Castiel, he’s never let his guard down this far. He’d never become emotionally close enough to feel safe, or deeply wanted. His helpless, confused flirtations had never been reciprocated to an equal extent. Besides that, he’d had to reach this age, and this level of internal despair before he began craving something greater than sex for emotional fulfillment. And he’d needed the romantic fuel with Cas to get him on board with actually trying guy-on-guy sex. And then the sex made it easier to chase a relationship after.

Dean picked out a rotisserie chicken, and paid for it in cash from his back pocket.

He wandered home, feeling electrified, not sure what to think about. His head was abuzz with a little of everything.

He began to climb the stairs to his apartment, sucking the back of his tongue and wondering why he’d brought this on himself. He could hear laughter and music through the floor and walls of the stairwell, a bassline tickling gently in his ears.

These were all people he loved, but there were so many of them. He didn’t want to make a speech. He didn’t want to talk to them all one by one. By now he kind of wished he’d told Claire to tell everyone that he and Cas were an item. The kid was enough of a rebel to have an underage tattoo, stars all the way up her forearm. But Cas’ genes and Jody’s parenting combined made her pretty much the perfect daughter in Dean’s eyes. Damn her being a good girl when it concerned someone else’s needs.

As Dean reached his apartment door, he realised he felt exactly the same way he had before he left. Heart in his throat. Full of regret and worry.

But he opened up the door, and everything fell away.

The sound of Christmas music tootled from the TV. The family gathered on and around the couch, facing each other, grins on their faces, mouths open as they sang.

Slade’s _Merry Xmas Everybody_ jumped through the air, from the glass wall on the left, open to the world, to the brick wall on Dean’s right, radiating warmth. The floor hummed with the deep beat, while everyone went rocking and rolling with their shoulders, with their shaking hands and their tipped-back heads.

_Are you waaaaiting for the faaamily to arrive?_

_Are you sure you got the room to spare inside?_

Dean felt tears spring to his eyes. Yes. Yes, he had the room. In his home, and in his heart. He couldn’t imagine a single person in this room absent, it wouldn’t be right. Claire knew it when she ran away. Sam knew it when he kept driving. Dean knew it now, filled up with warmth and light.

He shut the door, dropped his coat on the floor and floated towards his family.

_So – here – it – iiiis! Merry Christmas!_

_Everybody’s having fun—_

_Look to the future now,_

_It's ooonly just beguuu-uu-un..._

Claire held Kevin’s shoulder, making him sway with her. He laughed, missing half the lyrics, his narrow eyes squinted tight with joy. Castiel sat cross-legged on the floor, halfway through a puzzle with Jack, which they’d stopped composing to sing. Charlie sat on the back of the couch, drumming in mid-air with a jutted-out chin and fierce determination, her eyes set on Dorothy, who headbanged along.

Dean eased up next to his brother, catching his eye. Sam sang with his mouth wide in a smile, his long hair tucked behind his ears. One arm reached to push Dean’s chest, and Dean was sure Sam felt his heart leap.

_So – here – it – iiiis! Merry Christmas!_

_Everybody’s having fun—_

_Look to the future now,_

_It's ooonly just beguuu-uu-un..._

Dean clicked his fingers, bobbing along. He watched Castiel get up from his place on the floor, shedding puzzle pieces onto the rug as he rounded the couch, one hand out to take Dean’s.

Dean took it, holding it, feeling delight overwhelm him. This was the best kind of too-much. He wanted this. He wanted nothing _but_ this.

The best part of the song was coming up, and Dean was ready—

_So – here – it – iiiis! Merry Christmas!_

_Everybody’s having fun..._

Dean yelled, “It’s CHRISTMAAAAAAAAAS—” and every single person broke out laughing, giggling the final lines.

_Look to the future now,_

_It's oooonly just beguuu-uuhhh-hhhuuuuun..._

Claire turned down the music as the track ended; the family was in disarray, out of breath and still laughing. One by one, pairs of bright eyes turned to Dean, all glad to see him back, all shocked that he announced his presence so damn loudly.

Dean set his eyes on Castiel. “Hm?” he asked, cocking his head the tiniest bit. His lips pursed in a precursor to a kiss.

Castiel glanced around, and realised everyone was watching. He looked back and Dean and nodded.

Dean slipped his cold hand to warm up on the back of Castiel’s neck, and slowly pulled him in to kiss him.

Cold nose, hot cheek.

Bristly, prickly beards.

Dean heard a few gasps. Charlie made a smug noise. Sam made his trademark “huh!” of astonishment.

Dean licked his lips as they seperated. He saw the love in Castiel’s eyes, and he rushed through with yet another wave of happiness. This was _happiness_. Proper, complete, wholeness. This was everything Dean needed.

Charlie broke the simmering silence with a lighthearted, “I thought you went to get extra beds.”

Dean blinked twice, looking down at the paper bag he held. “Oh.” He looked inside the bag, not sure what he’d bought. Sheepishly, he lifted it out. “Chicken?”

The group broke into a round of laughter, and Dean joined in, shaking his head in bafflement at himself. “Distracted, I guess,” he muttered, going to put the chicken in the kitchen.

He stopped when he saw the colourful boxes of explosives piled up on the kitchen counters. “Whoa.”

“Oh, yeah, didn’t we tell you?” Kevin said, entering the kitchen with his Santa hat lopsided. “Our plans for tonight included an early New Year’s party.”

Charlie rushed closer, socks skidding on the polished floor. “Surprise! Late Christmas! Early New Year!”

Dean rolled his eyes, getting a plate to put the chicken on. “Fine by me. The roof would be good for that.” He moved to wash his hands, looking over his shoulder. “Now someone come help me get all the food out there. About time we ate.”

☙ · · · ♥ · · · ❧

In all the chaos and kerfuffling of everyone clearing away dirty dinner plates and getting the fireworks up to the roof, nobody noticed when Dean and Castiel disappeared.

Castiel pushed Dean up against the back of the bathroom door, where a still-damp towel hung, cushioning his head. They smiled into their kiss, Dean chuckling deeply, happy lines crinkling beside his eyes.

Castiel was full of savoury, buttery pancakes, but was somehow still hungry for something else.

“Mmuh,” Dean moaned, smooching against nothing as Castiel dropped back. “Hey, come back here...”

“Just...” Castiel panted, “catching my breath.” He smiled, his deep blue eyes intent on Dean’s lips. He glanced up, meeting Dean’s gaze.

They remained there, watching each other for a long moment, each of them breathing – in... out...

Dean felt his heart quickening, skipping like a child on the way to the ice-cream truck. His smile came up awkward, but fully heartfelt.

“Hm,” Castiel said smugly, leaning in to give Dean another kiss.

“Cas?” Dean whispered, pecking hasty kisses all the way to Castiel’s ear. His hot breath flushed Castiel’s cheek as he asked, voice aching in his throat, “I wanna do it. Right now.”

“ _Now_?” Castiel said in disbelief. “Here?”

Dean nodded, wetting his swelling lips. “We can be quick, right?” His grin became dastardly, and a little ashamed. “I ain’t gonna last five minutes once you get going. C’mon. The others will wait.”

Castiel hesitated. He already felt the heat inside him, and whenever Dean wanted to touch, Castiel reflected his desire like the moon held up to the sun, starting to burn. But what could they even do, here, in this little bathroom with one bath (slippery) and one toilet and one sink? There wasn’t even enough room to lie down on the floor.

“Here,” Dean suggested, eyes cast low. He reached for the top drawer in the under-sink storage. “Try this on for size.” He pulled out Claire’s hairbrush, then reached for the convenience store bag crammed in behind it.

He pulled out a brand new can of shaving cream, handing it to Castiel. With a blush on his cheeks and neck, Dean looked at him with eyes darkening, lust blooming in his expression. He sucked on his lower lip, eyelashes fluttering as he looked down, gazing at Castiel’s mouth.

“You want me to...?”

Dean’s voice skipped over his words, breathy and helpless. But Castiel read his desire, shaped by his lips. “ _Shave me._ ”

Castiel gulped. 

He met Dean’s eyes. Dean gazed back, breath catching as he began to pant, too eager.

Castiel began to shake the can.

Dean shut his eyes, lost to pleasure already. He groaned long and low, his freckles drowned by the colour in his cheeks. He bowed his head, and Castiel glanced down in time to see Dean place a trembling hand on his own crotch, rubbing himself through his jeans.

Castiel turned away, rummaging through the bathroom drawer to find Dean’s regular razor. It was a pathetic plastic thing, and the blade was worn out. Castiel frowned in distaste, and instead reached for the travel-size box he always kept in his trenchcoat pocket for barbering emergencies, and had set down in Dean’s bathroom... perhaps for an instance just like this.

Dean caught sight of Castiel with a silver blade in his hand, and his thighs trembled.

Castiel flicked the folding blade straight with an expert thumb. Dean quaked and caught fire inside.

Castiel took a tiny leather strap from his special box, and began to roll the blade up and down it, careful to drag the knife edge all the way to the ends, so it was sharpened evenly. _Shick, shick, shick_.

Dean undid his belt, eyes on Castiel’s hands. “Shit,” he whispered, heart hammering in his throat. “ _Sh-sh-hit._ ” He took his jeans off completely, kicking them away. After a moment, he pulled his underwear off too.

Then came his cotton henley: flung to the floor tiles with the rest.

Castiel smiled, turning his eyes to Dean’s. “Relax for me, Dean,” he said, taking the can of shaving cream. He shook it one more time, and sprayed a puff into his hand.

“More,” Dean said.

Castiel doubled the size of the white fluff in his hand.

“ _More_ ,” Dean urged, stepping into Castiel’s space, giving his cheek a soft, wet kiss.

Castiel’s brows inched closer together, but he made the can spit out another fat globule of foam, until his palm was overfull and the cloud threatened to ooze away. Dean’s breath _shuddered_ , and he took Castiel by the back of his hand, and made him smear the foam onto his face. Down his neck. All the way down his bare chest.

Dean bit his lip and groaned. “Yeah...”

Castiel chuckled, teasing Dean’s hardened nipple with a finger-swipe of foam. Dean whimpered, one hand on his thickening cock, working it slowly. He watched Castiel spray out more foam, coating Dean’s scruffy jaw with tender caresses of his warm hands.

“Mmmh,” Dean sighed, eyelids fluttering half-closed, a lazy smile quirking up one side of his face. “Fuck yeah, Cas. _Auh_.”

“This really... turns you on?” Castiel asked, as Dean began to masturbate with obvious intent, his body swaying with his hips, his eyes shut as Castiel massaged the foam into his face.

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” Dean murmured, flashing Castiel a cheeky grin. “Who was it who got a full-on boner last time we did this?”

Castiel squirmed on his socked feet, squeezing his thighs together, putting a little pressure on his crotch. He realised why he did that, and he looked down with some surprise, spying the rise in his pants.

“Gotcha,” Dean purred, sneaking close to kiss Castiel’s cheek, leaving a tingly, soft layer of shaving cream behind. “You’re totally into it, Cas.”

Castiel felt the inclination to be embarrassed, but he saw the way Dean looked at him – dark, lustful – _trusting_ – and the discomfort vanished. “What do you want me to do?” Castiel asked.

Dean’s hot hands tucked behind Castiel’s neck, holding them both secure for a while. “How about,” Dean said, “I kneel down? Aaand...” he tilted his head, teasing with a sparkle in his eye, “you shave my face. _Slowly_. And every time you move the blade away, I suck you off.”

“Dangerous,” Castiel said, warningly.

Dean smirked. “If I put a condom on you, that’s safe enough, right?”

Castiel flicked his eyes to the ceiling. “Safe enough.”

☙ · · · ♥ · · · ❧

The night was bitterly cold – and it felt even icier on the flat apartment roof, where the wind whipped by without a care for anyone’s comfort. Sam found Claire an extra coat, and draped it over her parka. She looked a bit silly, but she didn’t seem to care – her dark-lined, mascaraed eyes were gleaming, her teeth chattering, her smile wide.

Jody brought up Dean’s tape player – yes, a genuine _tape player_ – and set it on an upturned crate, protecting it from the snow on the gritty roof underfoot. The speakers blasted _The Final Countdown_ for the third time over.

New Year’s Eve was too many days in the future to warrant anyone sticking around in Michigan, waiting, but it was close enough for tonight’s celebration to count.

Kevin and Jack bickered about which order to set off the fireworks, their silhouettes making a rowdy shape against Detroit’s distant, sparkling skyline.

Over by the stacks of beer, Charlie looked around, wondering if they’d missed someone. She tugged on Dorothy’s sleeve, and asked, quietly, “Dodo, didja see Dean and Cas on the way up?”

Dorothy shrugged, tapping a cigar out of her pocket case. “Probably got lost in each other’s eyes. Again.”

Charlie snuffled a laugh, breathing into her woollen mittens. “Yeah. Probably.”

☙ · · · ♥ · · · ❧

Dean purred out a deep groan of satisfaction as Castiel’s cock slid to the back of his throat, then slipped forward as Dean bobbed his head. Shaving cream smeared against Castiel’s pubic hair, smushed on his thighs. Dean looked a wreck, with white smudges all the way down his neck, on his shoulders. His face was half-shaven, bare like his chest, pink from the razor and a hot, hot blush of pleasure.

Castiel held his straight razor in a relaxed hand, hung by his thigh. Foam and specks of hair dripped gently from the blade to the tiles. He breathed deeply, little moans escaping his throat. His left hand sank through Dean’s hair, scrunching into his winter-darkened locks, shattering the top coating of hair gel. He loved how it crinkled so crisply.

All the shaving cream on their skin looked like snow.

Messy, wet, _sexy_ snow.

☙ · · · ♥ · · · ❧

“Y’all ready?” Jody called to the crowd. They all cheered, raising hot chocolate, beer cans, or mugs of mulled wine – Dean, Castiel and Claire’s own homemade brew.

Jody thumbed her lighter until the top burst with a single flame. She leaned down, intent on lighting the firework fuses in the order the kids had decided on.

Sam looked around, feeling the crowd was a bit smaller than he’d expected. “Wait,” he called, and Jody paused. “Where’s Dean?”

“Give them a few minutes,” Charlie said with a sly smile. “They’ll be here before midnight.”

Sam checked his watch. “T-minus three minutes. Where are they, anyway?”

☙ · · · ♥ · · · ❧

Dean tilted his head to the right, breathing out through his mouth, eyes shut. Castiel ran the blade from Dean’s Adam’s apple to his jawline, and Dean forced himself to withhold his moan until the sharp edge lifted.

As soon as the chill vanished, Dean let out the deepest drone he could muster, wanting Castiel to _know_ how beautiful his hands were, how sweetly he touched. In Dean’s hand was the fat, throbbing heat of his own erection, which he stroked mindlessly, letting the fluid drip onto his fist whenever it liked. He worked along his natural curve, his smiles fluttering, his moans lifting from his core.

Shuffling closer on his knees, Dean opened his mouth, waiting for Castiel to gift him his cock. Dean took it eagerly, sucking the full weight down, huffing through his nose, grunting a single note of bliss. “Mm. Mm. Mmh.”

“Dean,” Castiel uttered, the name guttural, from the back of his throat. “I... I missed a spot.”

Dean let Castiel’s erection flop from his mouth, and Dean bared his throat again, jaw slack, all of him glowing with the thrill of this, the intimacy, the novelty, the _vulnerability_ —

Castiel ran his blade calmly along Dean’s pulsing throat. He could both feel and see his heartbeat, so close to the skin. Dean gazed up at Castiel with half-shut eyes, completely at his mercy, completely loving it.

Castiel gave him an assuring smile.

Dean grinned back – a sloppy, silly smile. “I love you,” he said.

Castiel chuckled, nodding. “Yeah,” he uttered, setting the blade aside, done at last. “Yeah, I know.” He stroked his half-wet hand along Dean’s burning jaw, soothing him with touch. Dean sighed, and came onto the floor. He didn’t even watch, but he heard the fluid splatter, gushing an inch across the tiles before it cooled and thickened up.

Dean turned his tired eyes to Castiel’s engorged cock, and opened up his mouth, wanting to be taken advantage of. With a grin, Castiel grasped the back of Dean’s head and filled him up. Castiel shut his eyes, groaning into his closed mouth.

“Almost done,” Castiel breathed. “Ah... Almost... Dean...”

“ _Mmmnn_ ,” Dean keened, sucking on Castiel with blind enthusiasm, his pace maddening. “Mm—”

“Dean... _Deaaaan_...” Castiel gasped aloud as climax gushed up through him, and his eyes snapped all the way open. “Auu—”

☙ · · · ♥ · · · ❧

“Shouldn’t we go look for them?” Sam said, shifting from one foot to the other, shaking his watch. “Less than one minute— Fifty seconds, even. Come _on_.”

“Screw it,” Jody said. “Either we light these up at midnight or not at all.”

“Mom!” Claire snapped. “What happened to waiting until we’re _all_ together?”

Jody huffed, snapping her lighter shut and backing up from the six sand buckets, all of them crammed with rockets. The frown on her face melted into a smile, and she reached to hug Claire around her shoulders.

“It’s not even New Year’s,” Kevin said. “It’s _pretend_ New Year’s. We can wait, like, ten more minutes.”

“No big deal,” Charlie agreed.

“Forty,” Sam said, disgruntled.

“Thirty-nine,” Jack joined in.

“Thirty-eight,” everyone said together. “Thirty-seven—”

☙ · · · ♥ · · · ❧

Getting to his feet, Dean immediately leaned in to kiss Castiel’s shoulder, admiring the pinkness that shone through his skin from within. After the big rush of orgasm, Dean’s heart had begun to slow, his breaths easing until they were gentle. He felt woozy, and sleepy as hell, but he still beamed his biggest smile, so damn content. Too content for words.

Castiel placed a soft kiss on Dean’s lips, then told him, clearly, holding his eyes: “I love you.”

Dean felt his insides go all squirmy with happiness. He hugged himself, shoulders rising. “Hee,” he said, shyly.

Castiel laughed, stepping against Dean’s front and hugging him. “I mean it. You do something incredible to me. I can’t even explain— It’s warm, and _nice_ , and... and every time I look at you, it’s special. Like fireworks.”

“Fireworks?”

“Yes, as though something inside me is lit up—”

“No— _Shit!_ Cas!” Dean grabbed Castiel by the arms. “Fireworks!”

Castiel’s eyes widened. “Oh!”

“We gotta go—” Dean saw Castiel reach for the foam-specked razor, but Dean knocked his hand. “Leave it! Wash your hands, get your clothes on, and let’s go. Now-now-now!”

☙ · · · ♥ · · · ❧

“Twelve!”

“Eleven!”

“Ten!”

The group chanted the countdown, Sam keeping an eye on his watch. They all grinned ear-to-ear, arms raised, clapping their hands in time with the seconds.

“Nine!”

“Eight!”

A thumping came from the apartment’s inner staircase, feet stomping fast up to the roof. Sam turned to look. Claire turned to look.

“Seven!”

“Six!”

“Five—”

The door from the building burst open, and Dean fell out into the snow, pink-faced and gasping for breath, wearing his t-shirt backwards and his belt undone. Castiel didn’t look much better; his hair was a mess and he only wore one sleeve of his trenchcoat.

“Four!”

“Light it up! Light it up!” Claire urged her mother, as Jody fumbled with her lighter. “We’re all here now!”

“THREE!”

“TWO!”

The end of the first rocket fizzled, crackled, and then burned short.

“ONE!”

A firework shot up fifty feet into the sky with a sweet whistle, wavering in its path. It paused, silent, and then – _SMOCK!_ It exploded in a star of pure white, smashing light across the rooftop, showing the joy on the face of every family member there.

Claire’s grin shone in the second flash, as did Jody’s, and Kevin’s, and Charlie and Dorothy’s, and Jack’s, and Sam’s. As they wandered closer to the others, Dean and Castiel took each other’s hands, bathed in the light of a third starburst, this one fizzling and sparkling like sherbet in the dark mouth of the winter sky.

Dean pulled his overshirt on properly, already shaking with the cold. Castiel snuggled up close, hugging Dean from behind to keep him warm. Dean held on, his smile one of absolute contentment. He kept his eyes trained on the sky, and the rainbow of celebration flashed above him, so glorious.

All around, Dean’s family huddled closer, sharing warmth like penguins did. They cooed at the lights, and pointed to their favourites, and cheered as twinkling streaks descended around their building, wrapping them up in a bow.

Dean caught Charlie’s eye in the blue light of a smashing pinwheel, and she began to grin. She gestured to her own chin, indicating Dean’s freshly-shaven face. Dean ducked his head, lifting a hand to stroke his own cheek. Castiel’s hand piggybacked there, and he enjoyed the smoothness of Dean’s face too, stroking him gently.

The hair would grow back before real the New Year’s Eve. And they could do it all over again.

Blue. Purple. Pink. Dean felt the fiery colours wash over him, and found they brought him a sense of completion, though he didn’t know why. Blue, purple, pink.

Dean looked around himself, loving the sight. Everyone in the world he’d give his life to protect was here.

Late Christmas. Early New Year.

The sparks in the sky blasted away the old Dean. The old life, the old ways of thinking. Old definitions, old thoughts.

As he took a deep breath of bitter, chilly, gunpowdery smoke, tinted with shaving cream, and the body warmth of his family, especially _Cas_ – Dean knew he was breathing in a fresh start.

This time around, he’d want whatever he wanted. Without hesitation. Without doubt. Without fear.

Because even when he didn’t know _what_ he wanted, or how to get it, things found their way to being.

☙ · · · ♥ · · · ❧

There was one thing he wanted.

He could be forthright about it, and just _tell_ Cas what the plan was—

But this time, asking was the part that got his heart pumping. Skin hot. Mouth dry.

Castiel stood alone on the roof, watching the stars poke through the post-midnight darkness. He stood with his arms around his middle, keeping his trenchcoat wrapped tight.

Dean approached in careful, crunching steps, a peppermint mocha in each hand.

“Hey,” he said.

Castiel turned.

“Wondered where you’d got to,” Dean said, handing Castiel a Batman mug. That mug was the perfect size and roundness for a hot, milky drink, with whipped cream and M&M sprinkles on top.

Castiel warmed his hands on the mug, peering appreciatively at the treat inside. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean just pushed his shoulder closer to Castiel’s. Dean’s heart was racing, though he assumed his face was unreadable. The colour of the night painted their faces in indigo, only a twinkle of light shining in Castiel’s grateful eyes.

Though there ought to be some element of tact applied here, Dean didn’t have it in him any more. He was so tired, and so in love, and so hopelessly in want of something...

“Cas?”

“Hmh?” Castiel asked, nose in his hot drink. He lowered the mug, swallowing, and Dean couldn’t help but laugh – there was a smoosh of whipped cream on Castiel’s nose.

“C’mere,” Dean said, sidling up against Castiel, heart-to-heart. Dean kissed away the cream, licking it off his own lips.

“Why, thank you,” Castiel said flatly, amusement and disdain perfectly balanced in his voice. “I did want to _eat_ that, you know.”

Dean snickered. “More where that came from,” he said. Slowly, his smile vanished. “ _So_ much more.”

Castiel squinted.

“Not talking about the cream,” Dean clarified. “Well, I was. But I’m not any more.”

“Oh?” Castiel said, with the air of somehow who knew what Dean was trying to get at, but was going to make him say it anyway.

Or... perhaps he _didn’t_ know.

Dean would just have to find the words.

He swallowed, realising he held a mug of mocha too. He’d all but forgotten.

“Would you... maybe...” Dean sipped his drink, hoping it could bring him courage. It went smoothly down his throat. “Maybe wanna...”

Castiel raised his eyebrows, patiently awaiting the rest of the sentence.

“Maybewannamoveinwithme.”

Castiel blinked a few times. “Move in.”

“With me, yeah.”

Castiel began to smile. “Are you being facetious?”

Dean snorted, and put on his Batman voice, deep and rough. “ _I don’t joke. Except sometimes._ ” Dean rolled a shoulder. “ _I’m not currently joking._ ”

Castiel’s smile only grew.

Dean waited, fidgeting a little. “Um. Cas?”

“Hm?”

“Do you wanna, or—?”

“Oh! Oh, yes, I’m sorry, I said yes in my head but forgot to say it out loud.”

Dean tipped his head back and laughed. He gazed at Castiel with the ultimate affection fluffing up his happy heart. “Tired, huh.”

“Very.”

With one quick kiss applied to his cheek, Dean nodded. “I gave Charlie and Dorothy our bed, with fresh sheets. Claire and Jack are set up toe-to-toe on the couch, Kevin’s on the folding mattress, uhh... Jody’s got the couch cushions on the floor. Sam’s likes the hard floor, ‘cause he’s crazy. I told him to at least sleep on the rug, and he’s gonna. But—”

“But that leaves no place for us.”

Dean shrugged a shoulder. “We could sleep in the bath. Pile some coats in there. Snuggle up.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, smiling. “Of course. What _better_ way to spend our first night as housemates.”

“Well,” Dean shrugged, taking Castiel’s hand, watching him gulp some more of his favourite Christmas drink. “It’s like I said. There’s more where that came from. Plenty of nights to sleep. We can get some proper shut-eye tomorrow.”

Castiel smiled, a little devilishly.

Dean knew that look, and he began to smile too. “What?” he pried, just for kicks.

“If we have no chance of sleeping comfortably tonight...” Castiel drank some more peppermint mocha, twinkling eyes set on Dean.

Dean chuckled, squeezing Castiel’s hand. “I’m up for a rough night if you are.”

Castiel smiled.

They’d have their fun later.

But for now, they drank their peppermint mocha, held hands, and watched the stars turn above them.

High above, a meteor struck through the Earth’s atmosphere and shot bright through the sky, lighting up the night for a split-second. Then, it was gone.

“Christmas star! Whoo!” Dean cheered, rocking back on bent knees. Beaming, he turned to Castiel, looking at him softly. “You got a wish?”

Though he paused to think, eventually Castiel shook his head. After so long wishing – for a family, for a real home... Simple things. Castiel had found all of them in Dean. Everyone else he counted as family prepared for bed one storey below his feet.

In the end, everything he’d ever wanted was contained within this apartment block, fifty miles outside Detroit. The place might be named Hell, but for Castiel, it had become his Heaven.

“I wish for this,” Castiel said, smiling.

He kissed Dean. Softly. With love.

Hands together, shoulders pressed, they gazed up at the star-filled sky. And together, the two of them were unquestionably content.

{ the end }

**Author's Note:**

> 1 kudo = 1 extra M&M donated by Claire, for the top of Castiel's next peppermint mocha, made with love by Dean. ♥
> 
> I made a lil graphic-edit thingy to go with this fic, check it out [**right here~!!**](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/169678924455/barbershop-duet-22k-nc-17-just-some)
> 
>  
> 
> If you were _totally enthralled_ by this fic, you may also enjoy:  
>  ✦ [**Whoa There Cowboy**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12937791) (5k, cowboy-themed motel smut)  
>  ✦ [**Manscaping**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/985607) (6k, Cas cut himself shaving, Dean does first aid)  
>  ✦ [**Drop Anchor**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3885811) (42k, sailor!Dean and pirate!Cas trapped on an island, domesticity ensues)  
>  ✦ or... basically [anything I've posted, ever](http://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/works)
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, you wonderful, special person, you – and I hope your holiday season was SPARKLY and LOVELY, and your 2018 is even more delightful!! ♥♥♥  
> Elmie x


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